RealSavvyMoms.com

What can we do in the midst of life's hustle and bustle, ups and downs and crazy in betweens that will make all the difference in our relationship with our kids? I say there is a lot we can do...if we make the time and realize that the small stuff isn't really small stuff at all. I was talking to a friend of mine the other day. We are both very busy single moms and we both work a lot. I am a published author working on my second book, manage spaViolet by day and run a non-profit organization in my spare (ha ha) time at night. She is a full time plus overtime esthetician/massage technician. When we began to discuss the small stuff I do with my daughter that to me and to her are a very big deal such as picnics and candle light dinners for two (nope, not just for grown ups!), she looked at me and said "I need to be a better mom. I don't do any of those things." It is not that she needs to be a better mom. She is a great mom. What she needs to do is get creative and know that those seemingly trivial moments are big in the child-parent relationship, especially heading into teen zone, aka "my child has morphed into an alien" years. I put a blanket on the floor, put candles and a nice dinner out with some great jazz playing to surprise my daughter sometimes. It is a great atmosphere for communication. Or we get in the car and drive, find a great spot on the coast to open the back of the SUV, break out the pillows and ice cream. Forget about the calories and let the bonding begin! Even a special cup of hot cocoa with a dash of cinnimon or a light massage on your child's back in the evening can be a loving moment turned into a lasting memory. Putting together a puzzle can be about so much more than just the puzzle. Yes, sometimes life is like a puzzle in a box dumped out on the table with some pieces flipped upside down and some scattered. Talk about the pieces of our life and how they fit together, turn them over one by one to discover where they will fit, examining all the different shapes and the edge pieces that make a perfect boundary. In the end what will show up is a beautiful, whole picture. This is actually one of the techniques we used when recovering from violent trauma together. These are just a few of the things that I love about taking time out to just be with my daughter doing stuff that is after all, the not so small stuff. So, what things do you do that may seem like a small thing but make a big difference in your relationship with your kids? By sharing we can help other moms take steps towards making the little things a big part of their relationship with their kids.

These kids may not be yours or mine. But they could be and they are someone’s kids. They used to be little innocent bundles. They used to be filled with positive hopes and dreams. Maybe they still are. Some had the ideal family and home life. Others are simply the product of their environment, violent and drug infested. But when they do something so terribly wrong, stray so far into the darkness, do they deserve life in prison without any chance of getting out? Here are my thoughts as written to Frontline: Dear Frontline: I am the author of Held Hostage: The True Story of a Mother and Daughter's Kidnapping. The mother and daughter were my daughter and myself. When people tell me I don't seem like a violent crime victim, I tell them that is because I am not a victim any longer. I used to be. But just as it is possible for a victim to work through and beyond violent trauma and it even become the doorway to peace, it is also possible for the offenders as well, especially youth offenders. Although this is an issue of great importance and is only one of many serious issues within the AMERICAN (not criminal) Justice System, there was no perspective or voice from the victim on your show. It is well known and documented that the system re-victimize violent crime victims everyday in this country by allowing the offenders more rights than victims currently have or the ones they do have not being respected or upheld in courts of law. But it is another form of re-victimization for victims, and their offenders, when they have no say at all in offender reconciliation options, restorative justice or on shows like yours that don't give a thought to the fact that a victim might actually want to see their offender making strides to improve their quality of life, go to school, better themselves and even share what could be a powerful message to others about the reasons why youth should never be involved in crime. You left out a key element to your show, which is the victim of these young peoples crimes. We are mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, daughters and sons and grandparents. And what about youth girls in lock up for life struggling with these same issues? The subjects of your show were all male. I am not saying they do not deserve to have serious conciquenses for their actions. What I am saying is that healing, self discovery, remorse and peace is possible for these youth offenders of violent crimes. We can not give up on them and throw away the key. Let's reach out to them all and show them we do care about their future, a future without steel bars.

So, here I am back at work. It is the day after an amazing weekend with my 13 year old daughter. We checked in to the Sheraton on the bay, took a taxi downtown and shopped like crazy. Later that night it was room service and movies. At 4 am she woke me from a much needed deep sleep to inform me that Miss Period was here. We had packed no supplies and a white little skirt for out music festival the naxt day. I was up and in the gift shop as soon as it opened getting everything she needed, including some of the best medicine on the market for this sort of thing...Godiva. A little lounging by the pool, swinging in the hammock and off to the festival for Cajun style food and great country, blues and soul! The day was so magical, period and all. I can't help but drift back to the weekend and realize how the time just flew by this weekend and how blessed I am that, although my daughter is a teenager, our time alone together that I am sure to schedule in no matter what else is going on in life is really what being a mom is all about for me. It is in those moments I feel the most alive, the most loved, the best I can be. Today is the day after Mother's Day but for me, everyday is a day to celebrate being my daughter"s mother.

By day, I manage a spa. Sure it sounds like a quiet, relaxing, relatively easy job. In actuality, it is anything but. It isn't often I get a day off during the week, a day to myself. My daughter is in school, the dog is on the patio, no clients to drill me about the party they want me to organize for a 60th birthday of a friend or vendors to talk to about invoices and keeping the shelves stocked! So why am I now sitting at home...working? Many people work a job simply to pay the bills. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. They may or may not be happy or fulfilled. It is a bit more than that for me at the spa because I do enjoy the people I work with. They have become my friends over the past two years. Yet day in and day out I live in a partial state of void because I am not currently able to do what every ounce of me longs to do. What about my heart, my life's work, my dreams, the fire in my soul to make a difference? I watched a video last night for the song “If Everyone Cared” by Nickleback that shares the message of how the dream followed by an action of a single person can change the world. I began to silently cry. My daughter looked over and noticed my eyes welling up, came over to touch my face and say, "Mommy, you have the best heart of anyone and you work so hard to help people. Keep dreaming big dreams because dreams come true. Just look at the people on the video. Their dreams came true and so can yours." I was in awe of her. If you know our story, you know the journey has been a long and bumpy road. That road has only intensified my drive, my dreams; my hearts desire to be a part of positive change for others; and has caused my hands to ache with the creativity to write day and night. And so today is my day off. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and visualize not where I am but where I am going. As I open my eyes I begin to work on what doesn’t, as of yet, pay the bills. The things that are priceless: my non-profit organizations goals and seeking funding opportunities; continue to write my next book; fighting for legislative changes to better protect violent crime victims in court; be an ambassador for peace and restorative justice; researching current events that apply to me or our story so I can reach out to help others, and for both my daughter and I, keep dreaming big dreams.

I love to hike. Always have. From the time I was very young I remember nature being my safe place to go when things were really bad at home. I always escaped to a place with trees, a stream, rocks and critters. I recently drove by a wonderful nature preserve that I had no idea existed and it is only 7 miles from my house. I have been dying to get out there and hike. The thing is, I am single and most of my friends don't have the same love of nature that I do. I used to take my daughter hiking when she was little and, back than, she loved it. But that is when butterflies and bugs were still fascinating. Planning a little adventure through the nature preserve, tiptoeing over rocks with water weaving through them, observing ducks and scurrying lizards seemed like a fun morning to me. It wasn't long before I realized that my wonderful 13 year-old would rather be practically anywhere but hiking. She dragged and scuffed her feet, swatted furiously at bugs flying around her and yanked at her dogs leash with such a heavy sigh you would think she was at boot camp for misbehaved teens! Let’s just say it was a very short hike. By the time we got back to the car and spent several minutes in silence, I began thinking about who my daughter is. Not just my daughter, but who she is as an individual and just how different we are. My daughter is the kind of girl that loves cheerleading. It is her “thing”. I’m not a big fan of cheerleading at all and need plenty of Advil to get through every event. She loves going to the mall. I’d rather go to the park and read. She loves going to the movies or the beach with her friends and she is not exactly a "nature" girl like me. I began to smile, looked at her and said, "You are not me and I am not you. We don't like the same things and that is okay. I really appreciate you going hiking with me and giving it a try. But I know you did it for me. You weren't happy and it made my hiking experience not so pleasant either. I need hiking and being out here to be a peaceful time for me. Hiking and nature, well it isn’t really your thing and I'm okay with that sweetie. It’s my thing. I love you for you and I love that we are different. So, how about I'll do the hiking, you stick to cheer. Deal?" She smiled and said, "Deal mom." An hour later she said, "If we can get something to keep the bugs off me I'll go hiking with you again." I love her for that and know she wants to do it just for me, to be supportive just like I will be there for every competition in cheer she has, ear plugs and all. As a single parent who has raised my daughter 100% of the time with little communication or parental assistance from her dad, I realized I had slipped into the bliss and challenges of being a full time mom + dad and forgot that I need to do the things I love. I must find other adults that enjoy the same things as I do so she doesn’t feel the burden of fulfilling that role because she loves me and wants me to be happy. She has that kind of heart and for that I am so glad. But today was about discovering more than ever before that my daughter is not me, how wonderful that is and realizing that it is unhealthy to project certain expectations or needs on her that are more about me and less about who she is as an individual. What a great lesson and gift to us both.

Recent Press Release: According to the U.S. Justice Department, increasing violence among teenagers and other youths appears to have contributed to the spike in violent crime. For the second straight year, violent crime is increasing nation wide. In response, the Justice Department is pledging to spend nearly $50 million this year to combat gangs and guns, and will push Congress to enact new laws to let the federal government better investigate and prosecute violent crime. Yet there is no mention on what will be done or what funds will be allocated to keep the glorification of the gangster lifestyle out of mainstream media, encouraging young girls to say no to relationships with male gang members or to address healing in the lives of victims and their offenders. According to two women on the front lines of positive change for crime victims and offenders, these are three critical areas that must not be overlooked. Lisa Rea, Founder and President of the Justice and Reconciliation Project (www.thejrp.org) says, “There is no better investment of funds than to respond to juvenile crime, and particularly gang related violence, by investing in victims-driven restorative justice. Restorative justice allows for direct offender accountability to the victim, and acknowledges that healing is needed in the life of the victim and offender alike. This is the ultimate investment in violence prevention." Many youths today have little parental oversight and are easily influenced by gang membership and attracted to the glamorized version of violence in popular culture. We hear it in music, see it on televisions and big screens and are bombarded with it on our computers. Many are left to wonder if it is going to get worse before it gets better. “People, such as the decision makers at New York’s Power 105.1 radio station, are finally taking a stand against the negative messages to youth that have been allowed to be the golden ticket for so many for so long.” Michelle Renee, Founder of the Violent Trauma Awareness Project (www.vtap.org) and Author of Held Hostage, responds. Michelle also speaks as the victim of a gang related bank robbery scheme that involved a home invasion and the kidnapping of her young daughter and herself. One of Michelle’s core goals is to reach out to young girls through her organizations Girls Against Crime Program. “We need to reach out to youth girls and encourage them to stay away from boys involved in gangs and violent behavior.” With budget cuts hitting the heart of crime victim services and anti gang efforts, the uphill battle for positive change for violent crime victims and offenders: young, old, rich and poor, marches on. Without funding and support, the march is a very steep climb. It is only through the determination of women like Michelle and Lisa who are looking at pushing for state and federal legislation, including better protection for victims during court proceedings and that would make victim offender dialogue an option for victims and offenders who have experienced violent crime, and the bold stances by industry leaders that will bring forth change for our youth.

When my 13 year old began “going out” with a boy at her school, it all seemed so harmless in the beginning. Going out at their age is going to the movies with a group of friends, being number one on each other’s list of friends on Myspace, hugging and yes, a kiss or two. But after a few months my daughter told me she was feeling the pressure to take things further. She broke up with him. They were on again; off again for a few more months and in that time I became friends with his parents. I noticed when I was at their home, at times the language between husband and wife and even between parents and kids was utterly demeaning. I even mentioned to the wife at one point that it will never be okay for her son to talk to my daughter the way her husband talked to her. It was completely foreign to me in my adult life and to me, totally unacceptable. It wasn’t long before my daughter called it quits for good. That is when it snowballed…the harassment, bullying and the worst vulgar language I have ever heard shooting like darts from a young persons mouth. The bullseye? My daughter. My heart was in my throat. I did not know, however, the severity of the situation until two weeks later. I began to pick up on some pretty drastic changes in my daughter’s behavior. She stopped wearing her colorful cute clothes and taking care of herself the way she used to. She wanted to sleep more than she ever did before and didn’t want to do any activities that she used to enjoy. Her sparkle was gone, her light was slowly dimming and I could see depression setting in like a thick heavy fog. She was suffering, her self-esteem was virtually non-existent and her grades plummeted. I curled up beside her in her bed at night and tried to get her to open up. She would give me bits and pieces of what was going on but I knew there was more. I have been paying attention to her for almost 14 years, watching her grow and laugh and sing and cry and fall down and get back up. I knew in my gut something had happened. I put on my best mom detective hat and began to investigate. First I got her password for her myspace. The messages she was getting from this kid were horrific. The language he was using, the names he was calling her were so vulgar it made me physically sick. He was sending out messages to her friends telling them not to be friends with her, doing everything in his power to bring her down and in his words, “bring hell on her”. I printed everything out and showed her. She broke down in tears and began to tell me everything that had happened. We talked and cried and hugged and even laughed a little until 3 a.m. over chocolate ice cream in my bed. She told me he pressured her sexually many times and the last time she denied him and began to cry, he got angry and started yelling at her. The next day at school vicious, reputation-sabotaging rumors about her spread like wildfire. It was all starting to make sense. Why she literally began to beg me not to take her to school the last two weeks. Why she started not caring about herself or having sleepovers because, one by one, she lost all of her friends. They sided with him. I could not believe what she was trying to handle on her own. We talked about how she could handle the negative situation while she was at school, I called the school to let them know what was going on and told them to call me if anything was brought to their attention regarding this boy and my daughter. I wanted her to learn not to run from her problems, to somehow stick it out until the storm blew over because life is full of stuff we need to face head on. But there comes a time when teaching our kids to take action is the best lesson of all. Things got so bad, kids began pushing her to the ground at lunch, pinning her up against the lockers before and after gym class calling her a whore. She ended up in the principles office asking for help. I never received a call. The final blow was a Friday afternoon text message. I remember it clearly. I had kept her phone that day so I could intercept her text messages. She had been sharing them and some pretty awful prank call messages with me since the big bedtime talk a couple weeks earlier. Communication was defiantly improving and she wanted me to see for myself how bad things had gotten for her in and out of school. I was working at a charity benefit when a disgusting text came across from another kid at her school, and than another one, and another… I left the benefit, drove to her school, pulled her from class and took her out to lunch at one of our favorite restaurants. I told her she was never going back to that school again. A heartfelt, "Thank you mommy" was the gift I got in return. From there we went to the district office and got a transfer to a new school and than to Verizon for a new phone number and for 6 weeks I sat beside her and helped her with every response to negative remarks coming from anyone on myspace, text or phone. I was teaching her how to stand up for herself, what to say and when not to say anything at all and guiding her to discover a new awareness of her personal power. When it was time to address the issue of his verbal abuse towards my daughter with his parents, I was told, “All kids these days talk like that. Not just our son.” I recalled the conversation at their home when I was told, “We’re from the East coast. That’s how we talk there.” Is vulgar, destructive language towards one another really an east coast thing? I know all kids don’t talk or treat girls or each other like that. To me it doesn’t matter if you are on the east coast, the west coast or in the middle of nowhere, disrespect is disrespect in any language, any region no matter who you are. Bullying and harassment in our schools and even on the internet, spilling over from challenges at home or not, is serious and negatively impacting the lives of our kid’s everyday. It is our job as parents to pay close attention to them, their behavior patterns, what they wear and who is and isn’t calling anymore. It's okay to ask questions. Set time aside and create a non-threatenting atmosphere condusive to open communication. They need us to be involved, unafraid to know exactly what is going on with them and without judgement. When she figured out I was a safe person to talk to and I was not going to judge her or call her names like everyone else was doing to her for the things she did or didn't do wrong, she opened up. I know teens need a sense of privacy and to be allowed to spread their wings. But in today’s society there is so much emphasis being placed on allowing our kids to just be who they are that we miss great opportunities in the midst of their challenges and crisis to be positive role models by taking action with and for them. Teens may think they don’t need their parents as much anymore and our role in their life is definitely evolving. But our responsibility to them is the same and they need us more than ever. They aren’t adults who can handle complex situations on their own no matter how much they say or try to convince you they can. And who cares if others think you are “too involved in your kids business”. If I weren’t so much in her so called business, she would have continued to slip into a dark oblivion. 2 Months Later: From 3 F’s, 2 D’s and a B, she now has three A’s, a B, a C+, and a D. She has a fantastic group of new friends and yes, her light, her sparkle and her self-respect is not only back, but also stronger and brighter than ever.

My dad verbally and phisically abused me since as far back as I can remember. When I ran away from home on a dark dew filled night at age 15, as far as I was concerned I no longer had a dad. It wasn't until I met the man that would become my husband that the idea of what a loving. caring father could be became a reality for me. His name was Bob, or as I say to my daughter, his granddaughter, his name is Bob. I was 21 when I met Bob for the first time. His son, Jeff, and I began dating while his parents were out of town one weekend. By the time they came home Jeff was telling them all about this girl he had met. The following week I went to meet them for dinner. Bob said, "you're the girl he is going to marry. I just know it." He was right. Six months later we said "I do". Jeff was in the military and was soon called out to sea for a six month stint. To save money and continue going to school and working towards my career goals, I moved in with his parents. His mom is the sweetest woman I have ever met, the picture of a homemaker. Bob was a cement truck driver who loved his family more than anything in the world. He worked on the cars with the boys, took long walks in the woods with his daughter before she moved away to Alaska and still showed affection towards his wife after 20 years of marriage. During the six months I lived with them, I discovered and felt more love than I had my entire life. Bob and I walked on dirt paths and talked for hours. We got up early and went to our favorite breakfast spot. I learned how to make traditional family "danish" pancakes and Bob's favorite...chocolate malts! Bob was the father I never had. When the doctor said Bob only had six months to live due to the advance stage of pancriatic cancer, I became physically sick and ran from the room. My heart was in a million pieces. I didn't understand how someone so simple and honest and loving could be taken from us and I knew he would never get the chance to meet his granddaughter. When he passed away he left me with a priceless gift. The gift of knowing the love of a father. But my husband broke down, began numbing himself with drugs, abandoned our daughter and me and has yet to recover from the loss. He is too hurt to this day to tell her about his dad. But I know I have to. I have a very important person who must know him, know how much he loves her and how much he wishes he could be here to take her on long walks and drink malts with and how to make his favorite breakfast. I talk to my 13 year old daughter about Bob often and show her pictures of his smile that could light up a city block! She writes to him and tells him about the things she is dealing with in her journal or in poems. I tell her stories of our last breakfast together at our favorite place and how I found him standing out in the rain just days before he passed. I tell her he is still here with us and looking out for us. I tell her he was the best dad ever! I tell her she will meet him one day and on that day she will embrace and know the best grandfather she could have ever had.

On November 21, 2000 three masked gunmen kidnapped my daughter and me. We were tormented for 14 hours and taped with explosives. At sunrise we would be killed if I didn't rob the vault of the bank I managed. I followed their demands, they got the money they thought would make them rich, we got out alive. Six months later, they were in jail and the grand jury proceedings were over. Than the retaliation began: firebombs were hurled through witness’s windows and death threats began to circulate. We had to leave the state. I immediately flew with my daughter to be with her grandmother in Alaska and returned to San Diego four days later to follow some pretty clear instructions I received while I was standing on a glacier looking down over an incredible glacial lake surrounded by blue-green ice. After a brief argument with God that went something like, "I can't. Are you nuts? No way..." I gave in and knew I was being "led". I gave most of our things away and jumped in my Kia Sportage (with 104,000 miles on the engine!) with a tiny cooler of food and even less money headed for Eagle River, Alaska. In 9 days it would be my daughter's 8th birthday. I pinky promised I would be there. After nine days of sleeping in my car and in a small tent, taking 50 cent showers at camp grounds and meeting a slew of people who were definitely angels to me, I reached a small town four hours outside of Eagle River. I was out of gas and out of money. I began to have a little chat with God. "Okay...well God. You asked me if I trusted you when you asked that I take on this little quest. I said yes. You have brought me this far and taught me how to look at the world again with hope and light and joy. This was your big plan so…now what?" Three minutes later there was a little white church in sight. It was Sunday, July 15th, my daughters birthday. The parking lot was packed. I couldn't believe it. God answered in a whisper, "Go to this church and tell them I sent you there for help." I gripped the heavy door and swung it open. I instantly heard music coming from the main auditorium. A man approached and said, "Hi. I'm Pastor Jim. Can I help you?" I told him I needed to get to my daughter, that I had been on the road for nine days and that I was out of gas and money. I told him God said to come there and ask for help. "I'll be right back." he responded. While I waited I ended up closing my eyes next to a sparkling eyed older man in the back row of the auditorium. A minute later a man named Dave tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Sounds like we need to get you a full tank of gas young lady." I followed him to the gas station and he filled my tank and filled my spirits! I cried and thanked him and drove straight to my daughters grandmothers house without stopping. When I arrived she ran out the front door as I honked wearing a party hat. I swung her around and told her I had a present for her. I grabbed the bright yellow scooter I got on sale for $19.00 at K Mart in some small town in Northern California on my 2nd day while buying my tent. We went in the house and blew out the candles together. My wish had already come true. That night we both slept like babies, snuggled up in gratitude and love. Thank you, God. Thank you.

When Greg was in the third grade his father left to go on a one-year military assignment to some other part of the world. While his father was away, his mother took him to England. He was eight years old when he and his mom began sitting together in a tiny cafe, sipping on a cup of coffee over conversation, giggles and sighs. When he was in high school he would come home and stop in the kitchen to stand and talk to his mom about all the challenges of teen life as they held warm cups and listened to one another. Even after he left home, each time he would return for a visit, sipping coffee and sharing wonderful conversations with his mom was their thing. It was how they connected. Many years later Greg’s mom was diagnosed with cancer. His dad had a hospital bed brought in to their home and placed it in the living room. When the Hospice nurses had gone home, Gregg was assigned the heartbreaking task of administering the morphine, deciding how much was too much and how much was not enough; the delicate balance between his beloved mother being completely out of it or in pain. One night as he sat next to his mother watching her fade in and out of consciousness, he held her hand and said, “I’m going to get a cup of coffee. I’ll be right back.” When he returned and sat near her, she softly said, “Mmmm. That smells so good.” “Mom, would you like some coffee?” She opened her eyes and whispered, “I would love some.” “I’ll be right back.” And off Greg went into the kitchen for a cup of memories for her. When her returned his mother reached for the cup with frail hands, him helping her to sip the warmth. They both knew what that moment meant to each other. 20 minutes later, she took her last breath. When Greg told me this story tonight I could not help but think of the mornings my daughter and I share coffee (hers is mostly flavored creamer!) and conversation together. It is as though that steaming cup of java is a green light to open up and share thoughts and feelings and challenges and joys. For some it may be a glass of milk or a cup of tea. Whatever is in the cup isn’t what matters so much. What really matters is that we don’t forget how important it is to connect with our kids in a quiet space and to never underestimate the power of communication. Find something that for you and your kids is “your thing”, a time that is just “your time” to talk, to laugh, to cry, or to sip a cup of coffee and create lasting memories that will be with you until your last breath.

He was sitting at a blackjack table at the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas when I first laid eyes on him. It was 6 a.m. I had 20 minutes to kill before I could cash in my winning bet for the big Super Bowl Game. He had 20 minutes to kill while he waited for his ride to the airport. I couldn't take my eyes off him, he did an immediate double take after an initial glance, and when I brushed my leg against his to sit in the chair beside him, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife. I felt a lightening bolt of energy shoot through me. By noon, he had missed his flight; I still wasn't on my way back to San Diego. Instead, we were in each other's arms as if nothing or no one else in the world existed. We ended up driving back to San Diego together. It was as though I had known him for years. We laughed and sang out loud to motown classics and good old rock and roll while he drove and I kicked up my feet on the dashboard, hair blowing in the wind. When he got out of the car at the airport in San Diego headed back to Ohio, he turned and told me he knew this was something special. The enormous gold box with 11 red roses and one white rose that arrived on Valentines day coupled with an invitation to meet him at his house on a golf course in Florida had me floating and practically unable to function. Four weeks later he was at the Hotel Del Coronado telling me he had fallen in love with me and that basically, being in love with me had ruined his life. He was a wreck. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and couldn't stop thinking of us. I could relate. By the time he stopped pacing and we embraced, I can honestly say I have never felt like I did on that day when we made love. For the first time, I cried as we clung to each other as if we were one another's lifelines. All my life I had been the one to tell my friends how awful I thought it was for a woman to be the other woman, the mistress. I judged women who had affairs with married men and I was the girl who said, "That will never be me." But there I was, deeply in love with a married man. I had become the other woman, a woman I never thought I could be. I was a yo-yo of emotions: in and out of a state of bliss mixed with being disgusted with myself, in denial and totally confused. For a year I flew from San Diego to Ohio at least once a month or he would fly to see me. Sometimes we would meet in another city, walk around in places where no one knew either of us fantasizing that this was somehow going to end up being us forever. Other times we went on wonderful escapes with people in his circle of friends who found this all too acceptable. I was being taken on trips that were just for "the girlfriends". The "wives" had their own vacations scheduled. At one point I was pulled aside by his friends and told that I needed to back off. I was told they could tell he was in love with me, a state they have never seen him in quite like that before they said. I was told he would never leave his wife or Cleveland. I ended up in tears in our suite on my birthday in the Bahamas. I thought they didn't know what they were talking about because he swore he was going to marry me one day and be faithful and things were going to be normal for us. I was wrong. In the third year of our relationship I went through a very traumatizing event, one that literally turned my life upside down. He never showed up to help or comfort me. He said he "couldn't". The frequency of our visits became fewer; the communication began to dwindle. It would only be a hand full of times I would see him in various places over the next five years. Each time I saw him I could feel that I was gaining more strength and due to the traumatic incident in November 2000, I had been doing some serious soul searching and taking lots of personal inventory. The list of reasons for my entering into this relationship from the beginning would be a lengthy one, starting with my unfulfilled, unhealthy and abusive relationship with my dad. Seven years later, he still wasn't divorced and I had yet to allow myself to be in any other serious relationship. When my phone rang recently and his voice was on the other end of the line, my heart felt that old familiar pang. He wanted me to meet him in Palm Springs while he was there on a golf outing with a group of people. He checked into my favorite hotel, a place I had called him from in the past and told him how romantic it was at night with all the tiny white lights in the palm trees and oversized cushions around the pool. I had meetings in LA all day and knew the drive to Palm Springs would be grueling. But there I was going three hours out of my way to get there. On my way out of LA I stopped to see an acquaintance of mine who handed me a four-disk set of The Secret for the road. He had no idea where I was going. As I drove I listened to the tape and began to think of the power of positive thinking, what we attract into our lives and I tried to see myself arriving there to see him. I knew I was looking great, feeling confident from a very successful day of meetings about my newly released book, and now I was trying to visualize my big arrival to the man who held my heart for so many years. But a wonderful, yet strange, thing happened on the way there. I could only see myself walking away from him, not to him. I tried to brush it off but I couldn't. It was so clear. By the time I arrived it had been a 13-hour day for me, nearly eight hours of driving alone. I asked the front desk to call him and tell him to meet me by the romantic pool. Five minutes later the bellman came out and said, "Maam, your friend asked that we send you to his room instead." What! I drove all this way and he can't bother to walk out here and meet me by the pool. I was pissed. With a hotel map in hand, I teetered on high heels over cobblestone paths and past low bushes in the dark, finally reaching his room. He answered the door in sweats and a t-shirt. Normally this would be fine. But we were supposed to go to dinner and I hadn't seen him in two years. Shouldn't he make more of an effort to greet me and look presentable? After all, I had! When I hugged him, he felt like that old comfy t-shirt that you put on and just go ahhhhh, or your favorite pair of jeans. My heart did the same old flips and it was as though I had just seen him yesterday. "I can't believe you couldn't meet me by the pool you bum!" I exclaimed and gave him a little whack on the shoulder. "Sorry babe." Was his reply. I collapsed on the bed, threw my purse down next to me and we began to talk. When I told him to get ready for dinner he informed me that room service would have to do. He wasn't in the mood to go out due to a throbbing headache. Hmmmmm. When I gave him a look of disappointment, he grabbed my face gently and began to kiss me. Than he said, "Looks like we're staying in." As we began to kiss again, I had a very profound moment. I realized that although I felt exactly the same about him as I always had and maybe I always will, for the first time ever I felt completely different about me. I knew this kind of relationship was not for me any longer. I had outgrown him and that situation. I was over being on the back burner and finally able to consider the woman in his life that I should be respecting: his wife. I had evolved into a woman with more self-esteem than ever before. I got up, grabbed my purse and said, "I'm going to dinner." As the door was closing he asked, "Are you coming back?" With a slight smile and a soft tone I replied, "No." and gently shut the door. With the click of my heels echoing in my head and my stride getting quicker, I felt 10 feet tall by the time I reached the front desk and asked for a pen and paper. I wrote, "You and this hotel and the beautiful suite are lovely. But I deserve so much more. I will love you always. Michelle" I had them deliver it to his room. "After all this time," I thought, "it was meant to end just like this." Dinner never tasted so good, even though it was only a drive thru chicken sandwich! I drove home to my favorite music and the sound of my own voice telling me that I am worth the kind of love that is healthy and from a man who can love me completely. What I learned is that we are not here to judge others. We are here to seek to understand and love and live in a state of gratitude. We are here to grow wiser with each experience and it is for that reason, without regret, that I am thankful for knowing him and all that we shared. Goodbye, Joe. Goodbye.

"Just be brave and never give up." Those are the words she spoke to me six and a half years ago that still echo in my heart every day. Back than she was only seven years old. It was a dark, chilly November night. I had spent 13 years climbing the ladder to success in the financial industry when it all came crashing in, literally. Three gang members kicked down the door to our hilltop home armed with guns and greed. Since then the struggles have been endless. Dealing with the loss of my career, losing our home, any sense of safety and security and my sanity was weaning. For the first time ever, I was worried about myself. To this day I wonder what would have come of me if I did not have to be strong and present and here now for my daughter. In the years to follow I began to take some personal inventory, work though the trauma and tame that wide-eyed hungry wild cat that eats away at victims minds called PTSD. I, at the age of 35, finally confronted my past and all it's complexities, disappointments and the pain of an abusive father and an emotionally checked out mom. I finally was able to allow myself to truly feel every emotion associated with all of it, even he the saddness of my failed marriage. I finally was not working so hard on a career, pulling myself up by the bootstraps in survival mode everyday. I was finally taking time to get to the heart of...me. It was the only way I could heal holistically. From the journey to Alaska where we spent an entire year healing and learning to live out in the open again to our adventure into Egypt and to the orphanage down in Mexico, our traumatic event has been an amazing path to peace. That life list has more checks beside each place or activity or event than it would have if we were never kidnapped and held hostage all those awful, heartbreaking and gut wrenching hours. For all the nightmares and flashbacks and sickness in our bodies, for all the fear and anger and disgust that followed, for all that we had to endure to be right here right now, it has taught me to live each moment breath by breath, to see love in the world, to forgive with understanding and realize the best posture for me is when I am in gratitude on my knees. I can now teach her this and so much more. Last night I was cleaning out the garage and stumbled upon a box of old pictures. When I opened it it was as though an atomic bomb went off in my heart. They were pictures of when her dad and I first met. I hadn't seen them in so long that they, at first, brought a smile to my face. We were so happy, such good friends. But soon I was balling my eyes out on the concrete realizing just how hard these past fourteen years has been raising her on my own, how much I want to be in love like that again someday yet not knowing if it will ever happen. When she entered the garage and saw me there, saw the pictures lying there, she hugged me and said "It's okay mommy. It isn't your fault. We are so much happier, just the two of us, than if you would have stayed with him and let him treat you bad and do drugs. Everything is going to be okay mommy, you'll see. Just be brave and never give up. Remember?" How could I ever forget? She was seven than. She is almost fourteen now. She is amazing. She is my daughter, Breea. She is my hero.

Recovery takes action. That was my first thought of the day as I began to open my eyes and shift under the covers of my bed today. I don’t mean just trauma recovery either. We are all recovering from something; divorce, car accident, natural disaster, violent crime victimization, loss of a loved one to cancer or murder or being bullied at school or low self-esteem that has led to an eating disorder. In order to move into the next phase of our lives and discover who we are meant to evolve into with all the joys and pains of the past, we must take action, be pro-active in our own recovery journey and take small steps and at times big leaps for healing to take place on a holistic level. After speaking with my friend Andrea I realized just how powerful this message is. The hit phenomenon The Secret tells us to do three things: 1. Command the universe; 2. Visualize getting what you are commanding; 3. Wait on the universe to give it to you. Although I do believe in some of the wonderful techniques and teachings in The Secret, mostly the teachings that the power of positive thinking works that goes back to books from decades ago, other teachings in The Secret are taking this philosophy too far, such as the list above. First, as Andrea so eloquently stated, we as human beings may think we know what is best for us but that may not be the case at all. What if we are commanding the “universe” to provide us with something that isnt truly what is best for us and God, aka “the universe”, says “Don’t think so. This is actually not what is best for you at all.” Secondly, visualization is a wonderful, powerful practice. I do this often and learned about visualization from one of The Secret teachers, John Assaraf, years before The Secret was birthed. But spending hours of your time visualizing what may not be best for you according to the universe in the first place when you could be out living your life seems like time not spent so wisely. And lastly, wait for the universe to provide for you? You can sit in your house or on a hill or in a meditation garden and wait for the universe to provide until you are blue in the face or until your last breathe and nothing will happen without you taking action. Taking pro-active steps, actions, thinking pro-active thoughts with active follow through on activities that will keep you on the path to what it is you are aiming for or recovering from are crucial to bringing about successful change. This is the only way for those in recovery from addiction, trauma, illness or loss to work through and beyond pains grasp. Take Action, take risks, and break away from your recovery comfort zone. Whether young or old, rich or poor, taking action, must be a part of any success plan if we want results, positive change, peace and recovery to take place.

I was talking to one of the most inspirational people I know this morning on the phone about my recent “leap of faith” into the scary, exciting and unknown of trusting that my public speaking, writing and consulting business will blossom into financial success. As we chatted away I realized that every time I talk to her I learn something valuable about life, about me and about her. The first thing she said to me was how proud she was of me, how much she admired my faith and the way I commit to taking action for positive change in my life. It has become so clear to me that if those around me are not lifting me up they may not qualify to be in my life with such an important title as "friend". I used to be surrounded by so much drama, people that would never say I am proud of you, including my parents. Today nearly everyone close to me is uplifting and supportive and incredibly creative and talented. I realized I have life messengers all around me. Than we began to talk about goals. Hers: to write everyday and have peace in her life; not to live in a state of anxiety. Our goals, she said, change over the years as we age and discover what is really important in life. I could not help but think of my own ever evolving list of goals and how, in the last five years, those goals have required my allowing myself to open up to new experiences, new and wonderfully diverse people, embrace a new level of spirituality and the ability to listen to my own voice instead of the critical voices of others that used to echo from my childhood. My “I don’t need anyone” run-a-way attitude has given way to knowing how much I need those I choose to surround myself with, connect and bond with, like her and all of my other supportive friends, the healthy members of my family and, speaking of goals, my new trainer Mike. I hate going to the gym. Really, I loathe it. But I have to get my 41-year-old body and mind in shape. I need to be, as heard on Inside the Actors Studio, ready for luck to happen. I am committed to taking action, hard work and basically being a go-getter. I know these are important ingredients to success. But I really believe we orchestrate our own luck factor and that it plays so much of a role in life. We can create opportunity, we can seek it out, find it and be right there on the edge and when it finally happens, if we have failed to prepare for that moment physically, spiritually or mentally, luck may slip right through our unprepared fingers. So, with public speaking engagements coming up, book signings in the works and me feeling like it is time to really get out in the world after years of self reflection and healing, I must exercise! Mike put me on a treadmill with weights in my hands yesterday at an incline of 8.0 and a quick pace for 7 minutes. I thought I was going to pass out at 2 minutes. He came up beside me and began to sing a song he made up, in his best jingle/karaoke voice, about my new business venture, my book and than said, “You can do this. You know why? Because you have never given up on anything your entire life. Am I right?” Anyone who knows me knows that quitting isn't exactly my nature. As I panted and groaned I bolstered myself with self talking thoughts like I need a shirt that say’s This Girls Got Potential and I can do this. When I called Andrea this morning, her words of wisdom were confirmation that I was defiantly on the right path. These amazing people coming into my life are an incredible gift. If we can open up and pay attention to our life’s messengers, those who are being brought into our circle, not by chance but by divine design to teach us something and help us grow, are lives would be exponentially richer. And so, just like my birthday wish list that now at age 41 and single has evolved into starting with a tool kit for those home maintenance projects I tackle alone, I re-assessed my list of goals today after hanging up the phone with my beautiful friend. My list begins with nurturing and embracing the five loves of my life: God, Breea, my non-profit organization, writing, and Me. The best part about my new list…I am finally on it!! What is your evolved list of goals and who has been brought into your circle to support and encourage you to achieve them?

I am bombarded with reality checks these days. At every turn it seems I am discovering new things about life, about myself, God's direction for me and opening up to whatever that direction is. Just last week I was in Palm Springs with my daughter and a friend of mine and ended up having an incredibly blessed trip, even though it was 112 degrees. God brought two amazing people into my life in the most incredible way while we were there. They are now working to see that I am a part of a show to help trauma victims and that my book is adapted for film. They called me on their way back to LA to tell me they had already set up a meeting for this Wednesday. The whole time I was there, the whole way home and right up to the time I fell onto my bed I felt like I had to peel myself off the ceiling. I needed weights tied to my feet to keep me from floating away. In the morning I hopped in my car and headed back to my part-time day job that I still need in order to pay my bills. Part of that job is getting supplies, including toilet paper. Now she calls me Charmin! I finished shopping and headed to work, pulled into the parking lot as my friend who was with me in Palm Springs was walking into the spa where we both work. She had seen me for two days talking about the calling on my life, speaking out and changing peoples lives, inspiring them to break away from the negative of violent trauma and embrace the person they are meant to become. The message that never leaves me alone. Now she was seeing me with my arms full of Charmin. We both started laughing as I said, "I shop for toilet paper for a living." Yes, sometimes success is embracing exactly where we are in complete gratitude while working hard, not just hoping, for our dreams to come true. Those dreams are the dreams that have been shared most with the people in our lives that are our constant, our rocks, our hearts. I have known my best friend for 22 years. The last few months we have been slightly disconnected. We both have been feeling it. Our lives have taken us to different places these days, we have different interests and are on very different paths. When she called me last night and shared a dream she had about us, our friendship ending and shared how she felt about my life taking such wonderful direction, about her feelings of me "passing her by", reality hit me once again. She met me when I was a 21 year old train wreck. She nurtured me like a bird that had fell from its nest and nursed my broken wings. In fact, she made me realize I had wings when I thought I was born with none. She taught me to fly, she has been my safety net, my therapist, my confidant and my guide. She reminds me of just how far I have come, how hard I have worked and how much I have grown. She may be feeling as though I have left the nest, but in reality I am just now able to fly with her, along side her, and be as amazing as she is. Tonight she helped me put together what to wear to my very important meeting in LA on Wednesday. I realized that no matter what direction our lives are taking, she is there with me, even if it is in the form of a necklace or the ring I wear so often, the one I bought while we were in Laguna Beach together. There are those in our lives that are our rocks, there to remind us of who we truly are. They are our mirrors, our muse, the ones we do what we do for because we don’t want to let them down. They are the ones who are real with us, call us on our crap because they can and than laugh with us about how rediculous it all was. They lift us up, cry with us, admit their faults and let us curl up in their arms while we admit our own. The ones who bring us right back down to earth and truly love us…whether we are holding the Charmin or a glass of champagne!

Although I have grown leaps and bounds spiritually and emotionally over the past several years and am more confident than I have ever been, I still get insecure sometimes. When that voice from the past comes back and starts to creep in telling me I can’t possible ever make it to the top of the mountain, I know exactly where it is coming from and know I have to take a time out. Even as I get closer and closer to reaching that peak, whether personally or professionally, work hard and overcome hurdle after hurdle, that broken, wounded little girl shows up from time to time, the one sitting on the other side of the bridge listening to her dad say she would never amount to anything and believing she would always mess it all up somehow. When I was growing up if I had a pimple on my face my dad’s repulsed reaction would always be “What’s wrong with your face?” Getting any kind of warm, loving, healthy attention from him was impossible. Than I married a gorgeous man that, even though I only weighed 115 pounds at the time, would grab my skin and say, “What’s all this?” and proceed to put a whole pizza in front of me telling me to eat it all if I wanted to be such a pig. He had a great sense of humor and thought this too was funny. He had no idea that it was ripping me to shreds and made me want to graze on everything in sight. As far as I have come, these critical voices have a way of showing up right when I least expect them to. After years of doing everything to make everyone else proud of me, trying to live up to everyone else’s expectations, I started to love myself for the first time in 2001. I began to listen to my own voice, change my language about who I am from critical to loving and excepting. I began to re-construct a picture of me, the person I could see in my own heart, leaving out the pieces I had been broken into over the years. But some of the pieces of the past sneak in, they are the upside pieces I grab and flip over to see where it might fit only to recognize one little corner or a jagged edge. That is when I get insecure and freeze up. The good news is that the time that I spend unable to move is minimal and those pieces are few and far between. I used to allow that hurt young girl of my youth to rule my life, my decisions, my view of the world were through her eyes. When the challenges of life hit I would stay curled up in an emotional proverbial ball for long periods of time. Today I see life through the eyes of a woman who is strong, embracing her past by setting it free and accompanied by ambition, drive and vision day in and day out. I still catch of glimpse of that misfit girl on days like today when I want to curl up and disappear, feeling rejection whether real or perceived. But I didn’t cross that bridge to her and play in her world of emotional agony the way I had for so many years. On days like today I take time out from the world and know that it’s okay. I have learned to acknowledge my childhood from where I stand with a warm glance, allow myself to feel it all, breathe in deeply the pain of my past and exhale the light that is now, that is the future, that light that is my guide. It is that light that keeps me from going back across the bridge. It is that light that is showing up in the picture of me in the mirror that is coming in more clearly than ever before.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in" align="left"><o:p><font face="Calibri" size="3">I sat in my car one morning last week staring at the door to my place of employment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Is this really where I am supposed to be?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>I contemplated where I so desperately want to be, reaching out to help others and speaking out for positive change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>As a friend observed, it is something I can not <em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">not</em> do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>It is a calling in my soul that I cannot describe in words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>So before I got out of my car to walk towards the door, my prayer was this:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>God, is it that I need to take action to change my circumstance or is it my attitude that must change?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Please show me the way, guide me and be the light at my feet with every step I take today and always.</font></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in" align="left"><font size="3"><font face="Calibri">An hour later one of my employees arrived to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>She handed me a gift, a poem about how she sees me and a book of Tao.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>I began to cry when I read the words of her poem about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>It was right unbelievably accurate, contained so much depth and focused on my life of healing from trauma and now being in service to others in love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></font></font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in" align="left"><font face="Calibri" size="3">An hour after that I was on my way to the nearest Smart and Final for spa supplies when I noticed a woman crossing the street in brisk strides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>She stopped suddenly at the corner and began to struggle with her flip flops, shoving her dirty sock covered feet into them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Than I noticed she was rambling on and on to herself, laughing one moment and screaming the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>She was homeless and noticeably schizophrenic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>My heart broke for her and I silently asked God to bless her and visualized her as an angel with wings of freedom from mental anguish in another time and place. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I pulled away from the light watching her in my rear view mirror, walking in the opposite direction with her bright red tattered blanket flowing and trailing her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>I thought of the expensive blanket on my living room chair I use to curl up in every night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>I was getting the feeling God was answering my prayer.</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in" align="left"><font face="Calibri" size="3">Three stop lights later there stood a man with a cardboard sign that read ”Hire white Americans”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Next to him stood a little girl, maybe 6 or 7 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Her blonde hair was matted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>She was dirty and her face was scrapped up from an apparent fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>She was holding the man’s hand with the sign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>I flashed to my daughter at age 7 when we were kidnapped and how we have overcome so much in the last 6 years.</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in" align="left"><font face="Calibri" size="3">By the end of the day my boss at the spa had come to me and told me she wanted to have an event to benefit my organization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Later I got a call from a 19 year old young man who was attacked and had damage to his teeth and self esteem that needed help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>It was a friend of my boss who referred him to me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>My boss has been one of my biggest fans over the past two years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>God put me in her spa to run it for her for reasons that are clear and reasons I am sure I don’t even know about yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But one thing is for sure, while waiting on God to financially bless this new life of purpose, my <em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">in the meantime</em>, the job I have that does pay my bills is one I truly appreciate.</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in" align="left"><font size="3"><font face="Calibri">It was clear that God was saying that I needed to change my attitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Our timing and Gods is rarely the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Why God has me where I am at this moment in my life I may never fully comprehend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>But I must embrace the blessings, never take them for granted and strive towards positive change even when I am ready to give up on it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span></font></font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in" align="left"><font size="3"><font face="Calibri">The hardest thing I have ever had to do is stay the course of this path, to trust and have complete blind faith that this calling on my life, this aching in my soul to make a difference is divinely guided and blessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span></font></font></p> <p align="left"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman' mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA">Today I urge you to be an example for your children by looking around you and asking God to help you change your attitude about your circumstance, about the less fortunate, about your direction in life and thank him for the breath in you that is life.  </span></p>

<p class="EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal">Since the first day she spoke the words <em>my daddy</em>, I have been explaining to her who he was, the man I married.<span>  </span>Yet by the time those words so innocently rolled off of her tongue that man was long gone and we were divorced.<span>  </span></p> <p class="EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal">As the years passed the questions about her daddy kept coming and my answers more expanded.<span>  </span>I chose to never speak of her dad in a demeaning, hurtful way, instead telling her of the funny, smart and handsome navy man that swept me off my feet, proposed on the dock after a stint at sea, my dream man in uniform with the most incredible smile I’d ever seen.<span>  </span>The "why" of our not being together anymore would come later.</p> <p class="EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal">By the time she was ten she had spent very little time with him, especially unsupervised.<span>  </span>He had seen her grow up mostly in pictures.<span>  </span>Those days she did spend with him revealed to her a man that was her dad, but not the man I married.<span>  </span>The questions about his lifestyle and irrational behavior became more frequent.<span>  </span>Looking into her precious face and sea green eyes, my answers became more difficult to speak over the lump in my throat.<span>  </span></p> <p class="EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal">By the time she was thirteen his broken promises, poor choices and domestically violent relationships made it impossible to continue to hide the truth about her dad.<span>  </span>It was time to tell her that when his father died of cancer, her dad slipped into a prescription drug induced state to numb his own pain, lost his career as a respiratory therapist and pilot, began doing street drugs and walked out on his family when she was just a few months old.<span>  </span>He has been a drug addict ever since.<span>  </span></p> <p class="EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal">At age fourteen, we openly and honestly talk about her dad.<span>  </span>She still asks questions about who he was before, wants to hear stories about our wedding, camping in the desert, and his sense of humor and barbequing skills, one of his favorite things to do.<span>  </span>Yes, it is nice to remember him like that and for her to know that the man she knows today as her dad isn’t the man he has always been.<span>  </span>We talk about him loving her as much as he is capable of; her understanding that his choices have nothing to do with her; and how much care about him still.<span>  </span>Those conversations with her are tough ones, but necessary and for us it brings a special closeness I cherish.<span>  </span></p> <p class="EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal">The other night she walked down the stairs in her robe with a towel on her head holding a white piece of paper.<span>  </span>I could tell by the look on her face it was important.<span>  </span>She sat next to me and said, “Mommy, I got out of the shower and had to write something that is in my head down on paper.<span>  </span>Do you want me to red it to you?”<span>  </span></p> <p class="EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal"> “Of course baby.” Was all I said.<span>  </span>What came out of her next stung me in the deepest core of my heart.</p> <p class="EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal"> <em>I am a girl with a dream, a dream that might never come true.<span>  </span>My dream is to know my dad, I mean my real dad, the dad that everyone knows and cares about.<span>  </span>I never got to see that dad or even meet him.<span>  </span>The dad I have known all my life is not real.<span>  </span>He is fake and what I want to know is what happened to my dad?<span>  </span>Who took my dad?<span>  </span>Well, I know what took Jeffrey Scott away: drugs took him and I want him back.<span>  </span>Everybody wants him back.<span>  </span>That is my dream, which may never come true.<span>  </span></em></p> <p class="EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal">After reading it she began to cry.<span>  </span>So did I.<span>  </span>I knew it was time for a magic cup of hot chocolate with French vanilla and cinnamon just the way she likes it.<span>  </span>We talked about the power of writing down your feelings and getting it out so it doesn’t stay inside of you.<span>  </span>How setting it free really is God’s way of helping us to heal and grow.<span>  </span>We talked about her dad and a wonderful lesson his mom taught me a few months ago: how on the days that is is having a “good day” we get a glimpse of the man I married, the man that is her dad, like on her birthday this year when he took us to the water park and had the best daddy/daughter day of her life with him.<span>  </span>We talked about not having expectations of him calling when he says he will, showing up when he says he will because, although he may have every intention of doing so, he loses track of complete days.<span>  </span>On those days, those very special days when he is able to be present, even if just for a few hours, those are moments to be cherished that are filled with laughter and love.<span>  </span></p> <p class="EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal">Than we talked about how drugs ruin families, lives, hopes and dreams.<span>  </span>She vows to never do drugs because of who her dad has become.<span>  </span>Sometimes the blessings, lessons shared and meanings on life’s path come to light on the couch holding a cup of hot homemade french vanilla coco as a piece of white paper on the table shines with the scribbled, heart-felt words of a fourteen year old girl with a dream.<span>  </span></p> <p class="EC_EC_EC_MsoNormal"> </p>

<div class="blog_content" id="entry_body"> <p>I turned 42 on Sunday. For two years now I have been stockpiling goops and creams, serums and scrubs to help me with my "maturing" 40 something skin. But the lines keep appearing in the oddest of places, like the one at the top of my nose that glares at me every time I put on mascara. I haven't found the miracle cream yet. Botox worked for a while on those main interstate mapquest lines across my forehead, but that is an expensive habit to keep up and when it wore off the wrinkles looked worse than before. But it isn't as though I didn't know the wrinkles were coming. I have been hearing about them all my life with ads for anti-wrinkle this and anti-aging that. Now there is even a great new book I thought was hysterical that talks about our aging necks. I never even thought about my neck starting to wrinkle, sag and begin to blend with the place where my chin used to stop. I now consider myself educated on yet another part of the body that evolves into something unrecognizable with age.</p> <div class="blog_toolbox inline" id="entry_tools_wrapper" style="padding-right: 0px; display: block; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px; background-color: #ffffff"> <div class="blog_toolbox inline" id="entry_tools"> </div> </div> <p>I wasn't prepared on my birthday when I went to the mirror to say hello to my 42 year old self, have a little self chat about all the lessons and successes, joy and pain I experienced over the past year as my new year began, when I noticed something odd. My eyebrows had literally disappeared. Okay, so maybe it didn't happen overnight. But wow, they looked bad. Nearly gone. Definitely no ends left on both sides and spots with no hair at all right in the middle. I did my best to pencil them in and jump back in bed for my favorite cup of coffee all year, the one my daughter makes for me in bed on my birthday.</p> <p>As we sat and talked about the day she looked at me and said, "Mommy, you have perfect eyebrows." She didn't know they were drawn in! By 2 pm I had run into a friend of mine who is a cosmetic tattoo artist. She looked at me, looked closer and grabbed my face like my mother used to do and moved it side to side. After 30 seconds she said, "You really should let me tattoo your brows. They frame the face ya know." I was really getting a complex by now.</p> <p>Today was the big filming for a new television series I am going to be a part of. I woke up on time, ordered room service and began to do my make-up at the hotel loving the fact that all was going so well... until I discovered I had forgotten my eyebrows, aka brow pencil. Panic began to set in. The camera adds pounds, not brows I thought. I frantically searched my purse and makeup bag. No luck, not even a brown eye shadow to fake it. When I pulled out the fine point sharpie I use at book signings, yes a sharpie, a fierce battle in my mind ensued:</p> <p>"What choice do you have?"</p> <p>"Don't be ridiculous."</p> <p>"It's a fine point. It will look fine."</p> <p>"It will look horrible and you'll be on TV!"</p> <p>"Do it...No...Maybe...crap...okay."</p> <p>I ever so carefully penned in my sharpie brows and headed to the shoot. I have to admit, they looked great and no one ever knew, except me and God.</p> <p>As we women age, hair on our upper lip grows and collects too much snow on the ski lift, an observation my best friend pointed out on our last trip to mammoth before laughing so hard we nearly fell to our death. But this and other pesky facial hair growth we are warned about, just like wrinkles. No one ever told me I would wake up one morning and be searching for my missing brows.</p> <p>So, if you happen to see my sandy blondes are looking for their owner eyebrows, send em' my way because my sharpie is almost out of ink.</p> </div> <!-- Inline toolbox --><!-- /Inline toolbox -->

<p>Coming to terms with the fact that our lives, according to our attackers, came down to being worth $360,000 put the value of money into a whole new perspective. Being kidnapped, held hostage for 14 hours, and and forced to rob the vault of the bank I managed while my daughter was tapped with explosives bound and gagged in a closet left us both inevitably altered. Recovering from that horrific crime for both my daughter and me has been the realization that what happened to us is now a part of our blueprint. It is a part of who we are and how we have arrived to exactly where we are today. There is no "getting over it". But there is the promise, the hope that you can actually live an amazing life, thrive and embrace the opportunity to experience life more fully knowing first hand how quickly it can change. For me, a life of purpose emerged. Trauma became my path to peace and sharing this journey while reaching out to help others has become a calling on my life I cannot ignore.</p> <div class="blog_toolbox inline" id="entry_tools_wrapper" style="padding-right: 0px; display: block; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px; background-color: #ffffff"> <div class="blog_toolbox inline" id="entry_tools"> </div> These days when I see the television flickering with images of violent trauma, which is all too often, I don't just see them as people suffering a devastating loss. I feel their pain, I ache for them and with them and want to tell them that in time, with faith and support and a lot of deep soul searching, their life will get better someday. In fact, I want to shout to them that they can become better than ever through tragedy and be transformed through it all. But first I also know they must brace themselves for the peaks and valleys of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).</div> <p>It's not easy to tell others about the symptoms you are experiencing that come with PTSD. In fact, violent trauma victims may not even know what is happening to them at all. They may feel like they are going crazy; questioning their own sanity with every flashback, loud noise that has them jumping out of their skin and the physical sickness that accompanies sleep deprivation due to the inability to close your eyes at night out of pure and unrelenting fear. I get it.</p> <p>My daughter had a severe PTSD relapse after the San Diego firestorms and our evacuation. It was the first time since the kidnapping and trial that either one of us felt that sense of threat to our safety, to our home and our life. She displayed very strong physical symptoms and was clinging to me not wanting me to leave on a business trip even two weeks afterwards because "I may never come back." She hadn't displayed these PTSD symptoms and behaviors in four years. For the past two weeks there has been a lot of bubble baths, quiet time, yoga and soft music at bedtime and massages to ease the nerves. Sometimes the best medicine is a simple rub in a circular motion on the tummy or gentle strokes with your fingers through your child's hair. It's amazing what the power of love and affection can do to to calm those pesky PTSD symptoms! With natural methods her symptoms have subsided and yesterday she was back to her confident self at a regional cheer competition where her squad took first place. But getting her to be emotionally ready took sacrifice of my plans and travel, dedicating myself to seeing her through this with every natural method I could think of versus medication and, of course, that extra special mom stuff!</p> <p>When I speak out across the country for all those who have suffered a violent trauma or know someone who has, whether it be a child or an adult, I write to guide, inspire and assist youth and adults to work through and beyond trauma together as a team with friends and family. At times of uncertainty, in the aftermath of trauma, using simple language, a language that only someone who has endured violent trauma and its aftermath would even know how to speak to a fellow survivor is important. It is also important to share that they can claim their life back, they can live Beyond PTSD and not allow the past, pain, anger, shame or blame to hold them hostage.</p> <p> </p> <p>So, today I want to share my top ten "Beyond PTSD" Life Tips:</p> <p> </p> <p>1. Don't be ashamed about your PTSD symptoms<br /> 2. Talk candidly with your family and friends about ALL of your symptoms<br /> 3. Love yourself...flaws and all!<br /> 4. Get rid of internal emotional clutter<br /> 5. Develop healthy new relationships<br /> 6. Re-connect with your childhood passions<br /> 7. Embrace your new reality, your "blueprint"<br /> 8. Get spiritual!<br /> 9. Never give up on yourself (even when you think you're going crazy)<br /> 10. Get out of your bubble and be alive!!</p>

<div class="blog_content" id="entry_body"> <p>I hate weddings. Hate is a strong word. So maybe I just have a strong dislike for weddings. Or maybe I just don't believe in the happily ever after crap anymore. I've been down that rose pedal laden aisle. The wedding itself was great. But a marriage isn't about the wedding. It is about two people who are getting ready to share the rest of their lives together or at least a few years of supposed bliss until the unraveling begins or one person finds what they believe are greener pastures.</p> <div class="blog_toolbox inline" id="entry_tools_wrapper" style="padding-right: 0px; display: block; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px; background-color: #ffffff"> <div class="blog_toolbox inline" id="entry_tools"> </div> </div> <p>Sharing the rest of your lives means getting very acquainted with the daily not so fun stuff. It is really about finding the person you can be yourself around the most; someone you can be with for the long haul without wanting to emotionally check out or drink yourself into oblivion because marital misery is taking over. I know there are up sides to marriage like someone to talk to, sex...okay that could be on the pro or con list. But it is the little things that really get under the skin and make one question or re-think the up sides of living solo. Couples living equals laundry and toilets becoming a whole new challenge. The snoring is absolutely a deal breaker. Bad man feet are the worst and I don't know about you but I have discovered that the gastrointestinal situation men bring to the table or under the covers is baffling and disturbing and definitely not sexy. And what if the way they chew their food at every meal starts to grate on your nerves like nails on a chalk board after 10 years? It happens.</p> <p>My brother is getting married this weekend and I am happy for him. Truly, I am. His wife-to-be is great and the wedding is planned as a semi-casual affair. But I still have a hard time going to weddings and listening to vows, promises, lyrics to gushing love songs, seeing dreamy eyed bride and groom only to remember my own wedding and the demise of my marriage. Do I miss the companionship? Sometimes. Would I ever trade in my wedding or marriage experience or regret it? No. Am I a little jaded? Maybe.</p> <p>As a divorced, 42-year-old working single mom and doing everything from being a handyman (<em>sometimes I think if I have to change even another single light bulb I am going to scream</em>) to homework helper to cook to taxi for 14 years and not sure if or when my King will arrive (a Prince just won't do at this age), going to a cupid fest is hard. My emotions go from "oh please, not another toast" to "Oh, they are so perfect and wonderful together" to "get me out of here before I go comatose due to an overdose of heart shaped things and flowers and picture taking ". I've been single for so long I seriously don't know how to act around couples anymore, especially newly married googoo eyed ones. I get uncomfortable. I get a little resentful. I get jealous and weird feeling and then there are moments I am just plain thankful that I am not in their shoes. My best friend is in her second marriage. Let's just say her shoes would give me horrendous blisters.</p> <p>There are times when I am so aware of the no man in my life void that it hurts and other times when the freedom I have as a single woman is such a great gift. So, this weekend I will have fun celebrating my brother's leap of faith and love, smile and look lovingly at the newly married couple knowing that half of me will be wishing it was me up there marrying my Mr. Wonderful and the other half thanking God it isn't while hoping that this really is their happily ever after.</p> </div> <!-- Inline toolbox --><!-- /Inline toolbox --><!-- Entry Footer & Comments -->

<div class="blog_content" id="entry_body"> <p>For me, everyday is a day to give thanks. If you have ever had a life altering, potentially life ending, event crash in on your "I have it all figured out" life, you know what I mean when I say that.</p> <div class="blog_toolbox inline" id="entry_tools_wrapper" style="padding-right: 0px; display: block; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px; background-color: #ffffff"> <p class="blog_toolbox inline">Looking forward to the turkey, conversation and blessings of going to see family on Thanksgiving is always a highlight of my year. But over the last few years my spiritual path has shifted from Jesus focused to God focused. From one way focused to one love focused. From giving thanks for the food that will nourish our bodies to taking on a posture of gratitude for everything under and including the sun that has brought this meal before me.</p> </div> <p>As we sat to prepare to dig in to our plates full of annual traditions, a family member began our giving of thanks in prayer. He is such a prayer warrior, such a great guy and, how could I forget, really funny. As he ended his prayer I began to explain my views of how we must consider all that went into bringing this meal before us: the elements, the hands that harvested, the packaging and preparing, and finally the presentation of this beautiful meal.</p> <p>With his infectious grin my brother looked at me and said, "Am I supposed to thank all the Hispanics who planted it, the Asians who packaged it and the white people who jacked up the prices? By the time I'm done thanking everyone involved my food will be cold!" Everyone else cracked up as I sarcastically replied with, "very funny." For the first Thanksgiving in my life I was, in my heart, thinking of all the people, some possibly from across the globe with varied ethnic backgrounds or roles they played, and the amazing grace of God that brought this food before me. For the first Thanksgiving of my adult life I knew what it was like to be in complete gratitude for everything in my life, right down to the last kernel of corn left on my plate.</p> <p>As we grow and change and allow ourselves to be stretched in many ways beyond anything we ever imagined, embracing life as a shared experience between all living things, we discover that we are as big a part of this journey as anyone else and on some days as small as we choose to be in the grand scheme. Whether it is a big or small day for us personally, we are a living, breathing, collaborative part of it all.</p> <p>I pled my case again mid meal explaining that for me it is about so much more than simply giving thanks. My brother looked at me this time with his equally infectious intense eyes and intelligent gaze and said, "I really like that." So, the next time he sits down to give thanks for the meal in front of him I hope he thinks of my words passed along to him, words that were passed along to me by a wonderful loving friend and in turn may he pass them along to another. For this is passing on the true spirit of thanksgiving.</p> </div> <!-- Inline toolbox --><!-- /Inline toolbox --><!-- Entry Footer & Comments -->

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times="">I can’t even begin to count how many times I have gone on a diet or some extreme weight loss program in the past seven years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>I would do great for a while, lose a few pounds and start getting compliments on how great I was looking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Just when I thought I was going to kick my bad food habit and continue on the path to my goal, I would end up in bed at midnight with a bowl of coco puffs.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times="">I started Jenny Craig one month ago and knew from the start this wasn’t a diet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>I also knew I needed to do the work in order for this lifestyle change to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>That meant I had to be honest with myself and with my coach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>That meant I had to, for the first time, pay attention to my eating triggers and deal with the real reason why I never allowed myself to get beyond a compliment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times="">Growing up was tough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>In my house if you were noticed it usually meant you were being emotionally torn apart and often physically abused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Flying under the radar was always a good thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Food was not often plentiful and when it was the boxes of sugar coated cereal were stacked, the donuts and ding dongs were piled up, countless boxes of macaroni and cheese and packages of hotdogs and the meals for dinner were huge portions of meats and pastas and potatoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>But we knew that soon enough the food would dwindle to nearly nothing between paydays with seven little mouths to feed and those of us who were scrappy enough were sure to get more than our fair share with extra helpings and hide what we could for the slim pickin days to come. My relationship with food was off to a very rocky start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times="">The kidnapping seven years ago intensified my poor eating habits and brought my desire to fly under the radar to a whole new level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>They had noticed me at the bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>They had stalked me for two months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>They had come into my home and terrorized my daughter and me and spoke very explicitly about their fantasies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>In my mind I went back to my childhood and wanted so much to be that invisible girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>I wanted so much to never have been noticed and dealt with the guilt of my daughter being brutalized because of me, my job at the bank and the home on the hill I had chosen for us to live in out in rural north east Vista.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times="">I was a complete wreck for 3 years following this ordeal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>But I have not only pulled myself up by those scrappy survival mode boot straps, I have fallen in love with life again, discovered my purpose and have found better than ever in almost every way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>The last piece to this complex and yet beautiful puzzle of my new post trauma life is my relationship with food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times="">Sitting in my Jenny Craig coaches office a few days ago was a huge turning point in my new life towards my breaking away from the under the radar thinking. For the first time in my life I made it through the holidays without gaining weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>In fact I lost nearly 2 pounds and since starting the program I have lost nearly 8 inches of body fat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">   </span>But one of the greatest gift I received this holiday season was identifying an eating trigger, a thought process that I am now able to re-program.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>I discovered that every time I would begin to lose weight and get a compliment, my mind would register that a, “Oh no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Someone is noticing you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>This isn’t a good thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>It has never been a good thing all your life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>Quick…run…hide…eat!” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times="">When my coach was telling me how great I was doing, how proud she is of me my trigger began to tick like a time bomb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>I could literally feel it in my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>But for the first time, while my coach was saying “You are going to do this Michelle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">  </span>You are even inspiring me.” I was paying attention to my feelings, my triggers with food and instead of running out of there and heading straight to the donut shop, I cried and laughed with her and my daughter, celebrated with a workout and a big glass of water when I got home and looked in the mirror and said, “Nice to finally meet you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: " new="" times=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p>

<p><strong><font size="3">I’m Not Fat Because I Don’t Know What Not To Eat!</font><br /> </strong><em><font size="2">The Connection Between Obesity and Violent Trauma</font></em></p> <p>So, is there a link between violent trauma and obesity? I believe, from personal experience and from my own information hound findings, the answer is a resounding yes. First, let’s look at what’s going on in our country as related to crime statistics.</p> <p>Approximately 31 million crimes are reported in the United States annually. That's an average of about one crime per second. Let’s do the math. In the next 60 minutes, somewhere in the United States, there will be approximately: 900 Thefts; 189 Violent Crimes; 124 Assaults; 66 Robberies; 24 Sexual Assaults; 12 Rapes; 2 Murders.</p> <p>If that isn’t enough, let’s look a little closer:</p> <p>• Approximately 389,000 women are victimized by an intimate partner annually. <br /> • Victims 12 or older experience approximately 191,000 incidents of rape and sexual assault annually. <br /> • More than one million women are stalked annually in the United States. <br /> • Teens ages 12 to 19 and young adults ages 20 to 24 experience the highest rates of violent crime. <br /> • Teenagers (ages 12 to 19) experience approximately 73,500 sexual assaults and rapes annually. <br /> • Approximately 92% of rape or sexual assault victims are female. <br /> • Almost a third (30.1%) of all sexual assaults occur at or in a victim's home. <br /> • One study found that women who have experienced any type of personal violence (even when the last episode was 14 to 30 years ago) reported a greater number of chronic physical symptoms than those who have not been abused. The risk of suffering from six or more chronic physical symptoms, including obesity, increased with the number of forms of violence experienced. <br /> • Approximately 1 in 5 high school girls report being abused by a boyfriend.</p> <p>After experiencing a violent victimization myself that included being stalked for 8 weeks, kidnapped and held hostage at gunpoint, forced to rob a bank and a threat to the lives of my daughter and me, I rapidly began to gain weight. It’s been seven years since that night of terror and I recently began to regain control over the overeating part of my life. Hiding out under my fat clothes is simply not an option anymore. Why let them rob me of my self-esteem and vivacious spirit too is the question I asked myself when I had a big ah-ha moment in the mirror 6 weeks ago. I also began to ask myself “how many women in the world are obese because of violent trauma, abuse or sexual assault? I began my little investigation and the numbers I came across are staggering.</p> <p>I heard that Queen Latifa appeared on Good Morning America and I thought it was great that she is now publicly addressing the health issues related to being overweight. But it reminded me of my own goal to speak out on an issue related to being overweight: publicly addressing the enormous population of men, women and children who gain weight and develop an unhealthy relationship with food due to the “mental health” issues related to violence, abuse and trauma.</p> <p>After my weigh-in today (lost another 3.4 lbs!) and a one hour nature walk, I read an article about Dr. Vincent Felitti and the ACE Study. It said he was mystified by why 55 percent of the 1,500 people who enrolled in his weight-loss clinic every year left before completing the program. He was especially confused after finding almost all of the dropouts had been losing, not gaining, weight. It didn't make sense. Why were people who were dropping pounds dropping out?</p> <p>I can tell you exactly why. I call it the inability to get beyond a compliment and wrote about it in my last blog, Bye-Bye Under The Radar, before stumbling upon this article. Felitti's curiosity turned into a 20-year quest involving researchers from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and more than 17,000 members of Kaiser Permanente. Their inquiry uncovered startling new discoveries about why many people become obese. And the results clearly show that, for millions of severely overweight people in the United States, the solutions proposed to fix obesity - better food labels, more nutritious school lunches, more exercise and education - simply won't work. Why? Because for a significant percentage, the public health problem goes beyond obesity; it is linked to violence, abuse and trauma.</p> <p>He remembered one woman who had been raped when she was 23. In the year after the attack, she gained 105 pounds. During his interview with her, she looks down at the carpet, and mutters, “Overweight is overlooked, and that's the way I need to be." Felitti says he began to realize that obese people didn't see their fat as a problem. For many, it was a solution.</p> <p>I can relate.</p> <p>It appears that more than five million obese and morbidly obese people are likely to have suffered physical, sexual and/or verbal abuse. It is likely that some type of trauma marks the starting point of the path to obesity and although nutrition is a nice subject, in many cases it has nothing to do with obesity. Not all people get fat because they don't know what foods to eat or not eat.</p> <p>In order for those suffering with the heartbreaking aftermath of violence, abuse and trauma, and the resulting weight gain, to change their behavior, the medical, media and weight management community must begin to address the deeper issues and embrace those needing their help. It is my hope and desire to become a national spokesperson, to use my voice and story, to reach this population and inspire them to be a hostage no more to their pain, past, self-doubt, fear, un-forgiveness, and anger. The day I address this very important issue publicly for millions of people to hear will be one of the most blessed days of my life. When this will happen, I don’t know as of yet. But with dedication, heart, and perseverance, I see it coming together in my future.</p> <p>Today, after a life of childhood abuse and adult violent trauma, I can honestly say I know what I, and my daughter, deserve and for me it is nothing but the best life has to offer. The best, for me, is not 186 lbs of self- loathing, french-fry inhaling, dateless and unable to ski with my snowboarding daughter. No. The best life has to offer is 125 lbs of spunky momness with the ability to get out, explore the world with my daughter, and laugh and dance and fall crazy in love with life again, mingle with successful single men (AKA go on a date already!) and get ridiculously giddy and sentimental with God about it all. I seek to cultivate transformation within others like me to do the same!</p> <p>So, here’s to wellness, self-love and re-programming our self- talk, banishing the negative chatter from the past and from others forever! Start anew and know that you are worth being in control of your eating and being fabulicious!</p> <p><em><font size="1">The above statistical information is presented from the 2007 National Crime Victims' Rights Week Resource Guide compiled from the US Department of Justice, Office of Justice Programs and Office for Victims of Crime. Article on Dr. Felitte by Jane Ellen Stevens for Sa. Bee, Targeting Obesity at its Roots. <br /> </font></em></p>

<p>When I was in school bully's were the mean kids on the blacktop. The ones waiting after school to beat up on another kid that was usually no match for their size and strength. But there was at least a "safe zone" from school bullies: Home. Today, running home and shutting out the bullying happening at school isn't an option because bullies are popping up on the internet faster than ever. <br /> <br /> Last year my daughter experienced a bit of cyber bullying when a kid posted a bulliten online that asked all the kids in her school that viewed it to make her life "hell" and call her names when she was at school. Even when I moved her to a new school, he posted another bulliten for the kids at her new school to see asking them to do the same thing to her. Soon, we discovered her so-called friends got in on it with him and were plotting to completely embarrass her during her first week at the new school. We cut and pasted the "online conversation" we discovered between the two girls plotting against her and took it to the school principal. <br /> <br /> The plan was aborted and the girls apologized profusely. I think they all learned and valuable lesson but it was devastating for us both. But when I asked her yesterday what she would consider cyber bullying, first she corrected me and said "no one my age says cyber, mom" and than stated she didn't know. I reminded her of last years events and told her that would be a perfect example of "Internet" bullying. <br /> <br /> Thousands of students every year embark on yet another scholastic roller coaster. There are many, however, who look upon the beginning of school with trepidation. They are the new kids, the shy kids, the kids who would rather be anyplace else but in school. Why? The reasons take on a myriad of variations, many are the kids who, as a result of embarrassment, shame, or fear, have either been, or fear that they will be harmed by their peers, or worse yet, opt to be by themselves because they believe they are alone and "the problem" is to big for them or anyone to handle. I'm talking about traditional school bullying. This crime happens under the roofs in what appears to be happy families. There's a ground swell of it within schools across this country. It's called "Cyber Bullying", or as my daughter called it, Internet Bullying.<br /> <br /> Cyber bullying takes what used to be schoolyard insults, pushing, and shoving to a whole new, expansive, and very dangerous level. The cyber bully uses email, chat rooms, instant messaging, cell phones and text messaging to insult, demean, threaten, humiliate, harass, deceive, impersonate, and in many cases, posts lewd or embarrassing photographs online of their peer - while hiding behind a veil of anonymity that the Internet provides. On the middle school level, typical insults include comments like "U R ugly, U R fat, U R a liar, Nobody likes you, or make so and so's life hell at school tomorrow", however when kids reach 13, the comments are often sexual in nature, include profanity and detail true or untrue reports of promiscuity.<br /> <br /> Unlike the schoolyard bully, these attacks aren't by some scary kid wanting to push his weight around. They can be by anyone or no one that the child knows. Tragically, it's sometimes by someone that the child thought was a friend. And unlike the schoolyard bully, a cyber bully can be comprised of one or many kids and by the time the posting hits the Net, literally thousands, if not millions of people have seen it, if it's been shared around the world. And unlike the schoolyard bully, the cyber bully hits their victim in the sanctity of their own home or bedroom - where they feel that they can't escape.<br /> <br /> Greg Writer, CEO of CEN, Children's Educational Network <a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="http://www.childrenseducationalnetwork.com/" target="_blank"><font color="#448888">www.childrenseducationalnetwork.com</font></a>) , and a father of five, notes: "Often, kids are afraid to tell their parents for fear that their computer will be taken away or that their parents will make the situation worse. What they don't realize is that unless the bullying stops immediately, it can escalate and leave permanent psychological scars. That's one of the reasons CEN provides FREE Internet safety and education (<a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="http://www.kidsafe.com/" target="_blank"><font color="#448888">http://www.KidSafe.com</font></a>) with our Parental Control browsers (<a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="http://www.tuki.com/" target="_blank"><font color="#448888">http://www.TUKI.com</font></a>). Kids need to know how to navigate safely within this environment, so they'll know how to prevent and protect themselves from these situations. Additionally, we make it very clear to kids who might want to engage in this type of activity, that there are severe personal consequences to their behavior. For example, we want them to consider "before" they make poor choices that whatever is posted on the Net is there forever, and as much as they may regret later that they did this to someone, the damage is done and irreversible."<br /> <br /> Experts in the field state that victims of these crimes suffer psychological trauma requiring professional help, many, like my daughter, have had to move to other schools, their mental state has resulted in their grades dropping; many are afraid to form close relationships with new people; and in more severe cases, suicide or murder has resulted. These are not just childhood pranks. These are serious crimes, and several states are enacting laws, such as Florida, making these emails felonies. In Pennsylvania, cyber bullying, harassment and stalking carry stiff jail sentences and fines for those convicted.<br /> <br /> Cyber bullies need to realize that they may be able to hide from their victims behind screen names, but they cannot hide from law enforcement. Mark Franek, Dean of Students at the William Penn Charter School in Philadelphia, explained the process very well: "Each time the Internet is accessed, an IP (Internet Protocol) address is established. The 12 numerals punctuated by the 3 periods is the electronic fingerprint that can be accessed by the authorities to trace all electronic communications between computers and/or mobile phones. No computer or mobile phone - or its user - is really anonymous in cyberspace."<br /> <br /> The Internet and cell phones have become, in large part, the fabric of the social lives of tweens and teens. As such, they are prime targets for this kind of attack. The first thing kids need to understand about Instant Messaging, and blogs (web logs) or live journals, is that the more personal information you give someone (sports they participate in, what school they go to or city they live in, wearing school mascot clothing in pictures, etc.) the more it can be used against you by not only those whom you wanted to read it, but by others whom you didn't. Whenever you type something online and press "send", you have just given up your privacy. Additionally, people online will pose to be people they aren't for purposes of deception and in many cases, to commit crimes - often stealing someone's identity in the process.<br /> <br /> Parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, teachers...talk to kids about cyber bullying. Give them these helpful tips: Know that there are ALWAYS people available to help you that will make cyber bullies stop. These people are law enforcement; your school teacher, school counselor, principal; your parents or a nurturing, responsible adult; Cyber crime reporting sites such as: <a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="http://www.cybertipline.org/" target="_blank"><font color="#448888">www.cybertipline.org</font></a>, <a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="http://www.wiredsafety.net/" target="_blank"><font color="#448888">www.wiredsafety.net</font></a>, and <a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="mailto:safety@worldkids.net" target="_blank"><font color="#448888">safety@worldkids.net</font></a>.<br /> <br /> Don't give out any personal information such as your name, your school's name or the name of any of the sports teams in which you play, your home telephone or cellular phone number, your address-- including the city where your other parent lives if they are divorced, your parent's office address, or the address of your school. Don't ever use your real name as your user or screen name. If you find that you are a victim of cyber bullying: Do not respond to the harassers directly because that is exactly what they want. Don't give them the pleasure of knowing that you're upset by it -- Stay cool. Save and print out all messages - Do not erase any emails. Report this crime to the police. If possible, report it as it is happening and remember, you are in control of your online experience. It is unacceptable for you to be verbally abused or threatened in person or online. <br /> <br /> It's an unsettling thought for any parent to think that their child may be a victim of a Cyber Bully, or be one. As difficult as it may be to consider, parents and teachers alike need to talk about this subject at home and in the classroom. We need to raise awareness of this issue and be pro-active. At present, lawmakers are drafting laws to prevent and prosecute the perpetrators of these crimes. Education, vigilance, and strict laws are key in disarming bullies.<br /> <br /> Thank you to Children's Educational Network. Please visit <a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="http://www.clubtuki.com/" target="_blank"><font color="#888855">Club TUKI</font></a> to learn more about the safe, entertaining and educational features that they offer consumers.</p>

<p><span style="color: black"><font size="2">If you have never checked your kid’s cell phone messages, history or voicemail, or internet history, you should. In this technologically advanced time, kids are catching on to the tricks and clicks that erase their communication tracks.</font></span></p> <div> </div> <div><span style="color: black"><font size="2">When spouses are cheating or engaging in behaviors that they do not want anyone to find out about, what do they do? They erase phone calls, emails, text messages and begin to stay away from home longer than they had previously. Kid’s behavior, if you are paying attention, that are doing things they don’t want parents to find out about looks frighteningly like a cheating spouse. </font></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="color: black"><font size="2">Call me RoboCop, Inspector Gadget, or overprotective mom, but I am all about snapping up my daughter’s phone when she least expects it to take a peek at her text history or log onto her MySpace to be sure the conversations and content she has, and others she is communicating with, is appropriate. I recently read some statistics that back up my choice to investigate on a regular basis. </font></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="color: black"><font size="2">A recent study shows that 30 percent of children between the ages of 9 and 18 delete the search history from their browsers in an attempt to protect their privacy from their parents. Kids are smart and in many cases, much more Internet savvy than their parents. Kids go online at a friend's house (this is how my daughter set up her first MySpace that I stumbled on), an Internet café, or school. </font></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="color: black"><font size="2">Many kids accidently or unintentionally accesses dangerous material online outside of the home. In these cases they will be unprepared to deal with the emotions that follow, including feeling as though they may have done something wrong, something bad and not tell their parents for fear of being punished. </font></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="color: black"><font size="2">The biggest problem facing parents, and the media, is that they, for the most part, are in denial. Parents are not as Internet safety, kid tricks for duping them literate as they could be. They don't have a handle on using popular online software and chat programs, and tend to have no clue about what is really happening online or on their kid’s cell phones. </font></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="color: black"><font size="2">This lack of awareness or “head in the sand” attitude on the parents' part may be no different than the situation before the technological explosion we know as the Web. Parents that chose not to know what their kids were doing before the infusion of the Internet were at greater risk of their children getting into trouble or put themselves in harm’s way without even knowing it. The same holds true for parents of the Internet generation who choose to not know what is going on with their kids on their tech devices. </font></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="color: black"><font size="2">The old, “but it’s my room” has been replaced by “it’s my phone” or “my computer”. Well, I say whomever is paying the bill is the rightful owner. Therefore, you have every right to take a stand for your kid’s safety or emotional well being and take their phone for 5 minutes or butt right in while they are online, especially when they are instant messaging. Make sure they don’t “suddenly sign off” when you enter the room. If they do, think red flag and sign back in to see where the conversation left off. If you notice your kids cell phone is always void of Any text messages, again, think red flag and let them know you will be checking their text messages on a weekly basis. If they are erased, they lose their “privilege” of having the phone at all. </font></span></div> <div> </div> <div><span style="color: black"><font size="2">Be your kids hero by taking a stand for their well being. Heck, you may even want to take their phone for the day and see what kid’s of texts come through. Yes, I have done that too and believe me, it was shocking, heartbreaking and a great opportunity for me to do what was right for my daughter in terms of getting her back on track and teaching her how to respond to inappropriate text messages and the importance of expressing self-esteem in every area of life, even online or over the phone.</font></span></div> <div> </div> <div><em><span style="color: black"><font size="2">For tips, software and education related to online safety, visit </font></span></em><a href="http://www.children'seducationalnetwork.com/"><em><font size="2">www.Children’sEducationalNetwork.com</font></em></a><em><span style="color: black"><font size="2"> or </font></span></em><a href="http://www.tuki.com/"><em><font size="2">www.TUKI.com</font></em></a><em><span style="color: black"><font size="2">. Kids can also join Club TUKI at </font></span></em><a href="http://www.clubtuki.com/"><em><font size="2">www.clubTUKI.com</font></em></a><em><span style="color: black"><font size="2"> and play fun, educational games, learn about online safety while earning TUKI Moola and even bid on auction items as a “Primo” Club TUKI Member. </font></span></em></div> <p> </p>

<p><span style="color: #333333"><font size="3">I recently spoke at the Woman's Journey to Wholeness Retreat in Santa Barbara. People always ask if I prepare for speaking engagements or topics and I suppose I do if you consider the incredible drive from San Diego to Santa Barbara preparation. </font></span></p> <p><span style="color: #333333"><font size="3">I called my friend Sally and described to her my road trip, surrounded by the ocean and new life breaking ground where the fires had devastated the earth, and told her I wanted to hop out of my car and take a bite out of the scenery. That statement reminded me of my aha "mango" moment just a few weeks before.<br /> <br /> In my book, Held Hostage, I discuss candidly the violent kidnapping of my daughter and me seven years ago: a crime that forced me to face a childhood filled with pain and abuse, my teen run-a-way life, the criminal trial and our journey out of the dark aftermath of violence.  </font></span></p> <p><span style="color: #333333"><font size="3">I have been on the path of purpose, awakening, and a spiritual uncovering that has allowed me to fall in love with life, God and finally discover self-love for the first time and developed, out of the ashes of tragedy, an insatiable appetite for enjoying life in the most delicious way! <br /> <br /> I was in my kitchen eating one of my favorite fruits, a mango. It was gorgeous...the color, the scent, the sweetness. But it was also messy. It was dripping down my fingers, my chin and onto the counter. I know, a neatly sliced mango is probably the proper way to go. But I I just had to take a bite right into it, my teeth sinking into the center of it as though I picked it myself. In that moment I realized that to me, life is like a mango: sweet, delicious, sexy, and sometimes messy, but so worth biting right into and getting all over you! <br /> <br /> When I shared this with the participants at the retreat and told them my story, my journey and how now I embrace my MANGOliciousness, the response was humbling to say the least. <br /> <br /> I didn't prepare what I was going to say, the Universe did. So, here's to taking a bite out of life and getting it all over you and letting our kids' know it is okay to discover peace, joy and laughter once again when coming out of the darkness of violent crimes aftermath!</font></span></p>

<p>I have been reading A New Earth in the evening as I snuggle up with my 14 year old daughter to close out our busy day. In chapter 2 we read about the importance of not looking at others and labeling them. She asked few questions and I wasn't sure how much she actually took in.<br _extended="true" /> <br _extended="true" /> A few days later we were at a community meet-up to discuss A New earth. When a woman who isn't physically or at first glance kind of attractive stood to speak, my daughter gave me a look that I knew was attached to a label. I remined her of our chat about chapter two and asked her to see the woman as spirit, not just a physical person. A few minutes later she looked at me and said, "Mom, she is glowing and so cute."<br _extended="true" /> <br _extended="true" /> In that moment, I guess it was my daughter's Aha Moment, she saw this amazing woman, her bright light and positive personality, as beautiful and glowing. For me, this process has been such a gift as a woman but more so as a mother. I believe that taking the time and doing the transformational work that so needs to be done with and for our children is an incredible blessing and a pivitol step towards changing youth society in such a powerful, positive way.</p>

Hiya! Well, I've had a long day - Phew!! I notice it is almost midnight as I am typing this - where did the day (and night) go??!! Tonight was my youngest son's basketball banquet (award night)at the school's gym, but beforehand, we had the gang over to our place for some pizzas. It was fun! I am just exhausted from lack of sleep and cramming too much into 24 hours every day this past week! Any moms out there feel this way? What is your normal amount of hours of sleep each night? I would love to hear...for me, I usually get maybe 6 hours when my mind and body are desperately screaming for 8 or 9! Well, just three days until Mom Writer's Literary magazine's spring launch! Yay!! Please check us out at www.momwriterslitmag.com and if you are a mom writer/author, please submit something to us for consideration - we'd love to hear from you :) OK, I was thinking about different authors lately and thinking back about the books I have read over the years and recently...I would love to hear YOUR thoughts and comments on writers and books you have read and loved or hated! I have been hearing about Alice Hoffman lately so I decided to.google her to check her out. Wouldn't you know it, I couldn't resist. I just bought her latest novel Skylight Confessions and I am eagerly waiting to dive in - need to finish the novel I am reading now first. Has anyone ever done that before...read two or three novels at a time? So many damn good books, so little time! OK, I need to go to bed. My alarm will be going off bright and early (6am)and I HATE MORNINGS!! Hope to hear from you! Have a great weekend and get some sleep!! ~ Paula

Hi Everyone! My name is Paula Schmitt and I am so excited to be here at RSM!! First I'd like to tell you a little bit about myself... I am a mother of five, I live in Central Vermont and I am a writer. I started my company, Mom Writer's Productions, LLC in 2005, wrote a book about raising boys, got it published and then decided to write another book on adoption (I have 4 biological boys and one adopted girl). My second book is not out yet, but will be in 2008. I created and hosted a talk radio show for mom writers and authors and I started an online literary magazine for moms which has been online for almost two years and is now going to print in June on our two year anniversary! AND, NY Times Bestselling Author Janet Evanovich is our featured cover story!! I am so pyshed! You can check out the site here: www.momwriterslitmag.com. We would LOVE to hear from you! Oh, BTW, our spring issue launches on March 26th - hope to see you there :) Anyone going to BEA (Book Expo America)in NYC June 1-3? I will be in NYC the end of May for the Writer's Digest Conference (with my new magazine for moms!) and the Keynote Speaker is the one and only Bestselling Author, Jodi Picoult! Has anyone read Jodi's novels? She is an amazing mom writer and was profiled in my winter issue that is out right now. Check it out! OK, enough about me. I would really enjoy chatting with YOU! Please email me or leave me a comment here if you have any questions or if you are a mom writer/author and would like to know more about how to get started, or possibly getting published in my magazine, or just to CHAT about a mama's life :) Chow! ~Paula www.momwriterslitmag.com www.paulaschmitt.com

Hey Ladies! Hope you have all had a fabulous week! I did. And I'm tired as hell to prove it :) OK, OK, not good but my spring issue of Mom Writer's Literary magazine launched on Monday the 26th and we are taking pre-orders now for our summer issue in June that will be going to print and it is so exciting to see all the moms who are supporting our literary magazine for mama writers!!! Please check out www.momwriterslitmag.com and you can even order a t-shirt to show your support in lemon yellow (perfect for spring!). Speaking of spring - it is almost here! My little gal, Anna is SO ready to play outside sans snowpants and boots and I don't blame her one bit. We are in Vermont so I'd give it another few weeks and by then we should be able to see all the brown, dead grass. NOT pretty. I can't take one more minute of MUD season. My SUV is caked with the stuff. Well, Easter is only 10 days away...and of course I am not prepared. We are going to Boston this year for Easter weekend (and the hubbies b-day)and yes, dragging along all five of the rugrats. Am I nuts? Really, it should be fun as long as I get to sip a little white wine each night...and day. :) Time for this mama to get on the treadmill tonight. Have a groovy week and I hope to see you at MWLM!!! Hugs, Paula

April 6th CAN NOT get here fast enough!!! Tomorrow I will be packing up and heading off to Boston for the weekend - Yippeeee! It's been a year since I was there last on business but this year - it's for pleasure baby!! The whole family is going (I know, NO sleep for me!), however, I am SO looking forward to this. 2 1/2 days not knowing what day I am on, what time it is, and NO cooking and cleaning :) YES. It doesn't take a lot to make this mama happy! SO what's new with YOU? Stop by and tell me about your holiday weekend! I'd love to chat one mom to another :) Cheers! Paula www.paulaschmitt.com

Hi all you mamas out there! I am sick. Sicker than a dog. I went to Boston this weekend and had a blast and two days later, after I returned home, I started with a nasty cold. And two of my five kids got it too! It is SO hard to get out of bed in the morning when you feel like your head is going to explode and your throat is on fire - not to mention the drippy nose and stuffy ears! The kids seem fine. Seems like mom got the worst of it... Oh well. We had an awesome time in Boston and hated to leave. They food was scrumptious and the science museum is so cool. That's probably where we picked up the germs as everything is HANDS ON. We saw this incredible movie at the IMAX theatre (at the museum) on Alaska. Such beautiful country and even the kids really enjoyed that - so worth seeing! And of course, we did some walking around the city. Such a fun place for families or singles and adults. We did run into a total drunk at one of the restaurants who was hanging around the bar and the door trying to leave with any female that moved. The kids were getting a good laugh about it but it was SAD. Finally I guess his date showed up and they went back into the bar barely able to stand and walk (both of them). Hopefully they would be leaving by "Party Limo" of Boston :) So, let me check - it is April 12th and we are having a major snowstorm here today in Vermont - like 8 inches of snow or more...sheesh! Lucky me, we are supposed to get hit again starting this Sunday. So much for the kids baseball season starting in 2 weeks. OK, time for this mom to blow her drippy nose again (wash hands again) and think about dinner for the gang. I really would just like to go to sleep....... Until next week, keep happy and healthy! CHOW, ~Paula

Hi! Well it's Thursday, we are over hump day and on the home stretch to the weekend! Yay!!! This week my younger kids were on their spring break (lucky me):) and we have had crap for weather! However, starting tomorrow and through the weekend we are supposed to see the 60's and clear blue skies - hey, we just may have a baseball game this weekend. That is if the snow all melts and the fields dry up in the next two days. I don't know about your kids but my gang is SO ready to play outside! Got some great news yesterday...My magazine for moms, Mom Writer's Literary magazine, was chosen for the second year in a row by Writer's Digest magazine as "One of the Best Websites for Writers"!!! I'd like to thank my MWLM team once again as we could not do it without you. So exciting! So, I am reading an excellent book right now. It's called The Mother-Daughter Project by SuEllen Hamkins, MD and Renee Schultz, MA (Penguin Group). Their publisher sent this to me in hopes that I will decide to do an interview with their clients, SuEllen and Renee in my magazine. Right now it's lookin' good...If you are a mom with a daughter(s), definitely check this book out ;) HEY! Are You A Slacker Mom? No. Really? Are you? You can find out at www.areyouaslackermom.com. Don’t be afraid – check out your parenting style, it’ll be fun, you’ll see, and you will learn some fun tips on mommyhood along the way! It's time for this mommy to say goodbye for now...have an awesome weekend! Toodles, ~Paula

Well, spring has shown it's face here in Central Vermont and it's about damn time. It's sunny and 60 degrees today - beautiful. So why am I sitting here, inside, at my desk? I'm thinking about moving my laptop out on the front porch and get cozy in my rocking chair with my yellow lab at my feet and a fresh squeezed lemonade....sound good? Oh yea, cancel that. I just looked at the clock and remembered I need to pick up one of my sons in an hour for a doctor appointment and I have piles of laundry that need to be folded before that. Such is life. So, I have lots going down. The magazine is coming along great - getting closer to sending it off to the printer (in about 2 weeks)! One would never even imagine how much work goes into putting together and launching a print magazine. I thought the online mag was a lot of work and time - it doesn't even come close to the work and time involved in getting out a print issue. BUT, I LOVE it! The launch date is June 25th, however, my printer will have them ready one month ahead for the premier issue as I will be in NYC the end of May at the Writer's Digest Conference with MWLM on display and complimentary copies for all guests...I know, I know, so cool! Then there is BEA the following few days - so much going on. We are also planning MWLM launch party! At this time plans are set for Boston at the end of June but I will announce more when the plans are finalized. This is a party you DON"T want to miss. Anybody reading a GOOD book these days? I read The Mother-Daughter Project which was excellent. I highly recommend this book to mothers of daughters and to older daughters. Great info. I just started reading Writing Motherhood by Lisa Garrigues who is in the hot seat at the moment and so far so good Lisa. Then I am looking SO forward to reading Jacquelyn Mitchard's upcoming novel STILL SUMMER. Jackie sent me the ARC (advanced reading copy) last week and along with it was this teeny tiny message in a bottle with shells and sand inside -so cool, I love it! (Oh, it kinda goes along with the fiction story) :) Better run - the laundry and foot doctor are calling... Ciao, Paula

Despite the morning sickness that I have everyday all day long, I am totally excited that I am seven weeks pregnant!!! My husband accompanied me to my first Doctor visit on Monday, March 12th and it was really exciting! I had a sonogram and we saw the baby's heart beat and I almost cried. I spend so much time with new and expectant moms on our show, but to experience it for yourself is truly amazing. My doctor told me that since I am thirty-five years old, I need to consider the nuchal translucency test or the amniocentesis. I am somewhat afraid to have the amniocentesis done because of the risks of miscarriage. I have heard stories from both sides. Some say it is harmless and safe, and some say that it is dangerous for your baby. What do you guys think? To do or not to do, that is the question...

My Company sent me to Eugene Oregon for a Midwifery Conference on Wednesday, March 14th. I had to take three flights to get there and I had morning sickness really bad, so the flights were sheer hell! I tried to warn the flight attendant as we landed that I really needed to use the bathroom, but she didn't listen, so you could imagine what happened next! Then the airport lost my luggage, so I guess you could say I was off to a bad start. But the next two days would change my life forever... The next morning, Elaine Stillerman (our show writer) and I attended a workshop given by Penny Simkin, and I was really excited because she is the author of the book given to me by my OBGYN, Pregnancy, Childbirth, and the Newborn. As I sat in her class and watched a birthing video, tears started streaming down my face! I couldn't stop crying! In the past, the only thing I could relate to childbirth was pain and anguish and I never knew that childbirth could be so beautiful. And the fact that the Midwives and Doulas were right there the whole time coaching and giving support to the mothers...it was unbelievable. I then interviewed Penny, along with Dr. Marsden Wagner, Dr. Robbie Davis-Floyd, Dr. Michel Odent, and Midwives Penni Harmon, Ina May Gaskin, Jan Tritten, Gail Hart, Eneyda Spradlin-Ramos and Doula-Kelly Townsend. These people are truly amazing! They have such a passion for the childbirth experience and they speak the truth in regards to the things that the hospitals don't always tell you. Midwives are also clinically trained to handle prenatal visits as well as delivery. And during childbirth, they are ALWAYS by your side giving you the love and support women need before, during and after labor...unlike Doctors who often have patients lined up and just can't give each patient the quality time they may require. I am so blessed to have attended this conference. Midwives are truly the warmest, kindest, and most loving people I have ever met in my entire life! And some of the things I learned from them was NEVER told to me by my OBGYN. I realize why women NEED our television show "Real Moms, Real Stories, Real Savvy". Our show truly empowers women with the information that will help them make more informed decisions about there pregnancy and motherhood. It certainly has empowered and changed me! I am firing my OBGYN and I will have a Midwife and a Doula deliver my baby. I could not imagine giving birth and not having them present. I have also decided to have a natural birth, no epidural, no medication. Just me, my Midwife, and my Doula (and my husband, of course). Will it be painful? Yes! But having my Midwife and Doula there will make all the difference! And as Penny Simkin says, "I can do it!"

Okay, you all know that I made the decision to have a natural childbirth with my first child. Since I've told my friends and family about my decision, the response has been completely one-sided. Everyone thinks that I'm crazy and that I will be unable to endure the pain and will beg for the epidural. The overwhelming response I've gotten is that it's too painful and I'm nuts to think I can go without medication. Are there any moms out there that had a natural childbirth and actually have something positive to say about it? My question is, what did women do before the epidurals? And why are we so afraid of pain? I am producing a segment on the Perception of Pain and I interviewed Dr. Marsden Wagner on this topic and he made some pretty powerful statements regarding the media's influence on women and childbirth. You can read an article he wrote at; http://www.marsdenwagner.com/fishall.html I'm not saying it won't be painful, I know it will be. And in fact, I'm taping the birth for our show. I'm having a waterbirth so all will be able to share this journey with me.

On Monday, April 23rd, in my 12th week of pregnancy, my husband and I go to our 9:30AM appointment to meet our new Midwife. We were really excited because we were meeting her for the first time and having another ultrasound. She comes in and she's extremely nice. We talked awhile and then she proceeded with the exam. She used a doppler to hear the baby's heartbeat. She moved it around my stomach, but still, we couldn't hear anything. So she says "don't worry, this happens often. We'll do an ultrasound". She proceeds with the ultrasound and does not see a heartbeat. She went on to tell us that the baby did not have a heartbeat and at 12 weeks, the baby was the same size as the photo I took during my seventh week. "This is not a good pregnancy, I'm sorry", she says. My husband and I just sat there completely numb. We thought we were just going to our appointment. Not in a million years did we expect to get that news. It was devestating. I burst into tears because I was so looking forward to having a baby. I then started thinking back "is it something I did to cause this?" I received so much support from my husband, family, my work family at Real Savvy Moms, and friends. But what I found most amazing is that so many women that I know have had the same experience. They all had miscarriages early in their pregnancy. I've learned that it is nothing that I could have done, these things happen. I have come to believe that and have been able to move forward. I am still healing from this experience and I believe that God has a purpose for everything and I look forward to my next pregnancy. Thanks again to everyone for their enduring support!!!!!!!! Toiya

Hi all! Finally I get to start my blog! It’s been really hectic since New Year. Plus, its allergy season here in India, so everyone’s been falling sick in turns! But first, a little about myself. I’m Pramilla, super mom to Mira a very curious-about-everything seven month old. She has been the center of attention from day one on this planet. She is the first baby girl in the family; all her cousins are rowdy little boys. And she is quite a diva! Her father has been clicking photographs of her since she was ten minutes old, and now she behaves as if the camera is her friend! Okay, okay…. Before I get carried off again gushing about my little darling, back to basics then! I’ve studied hotel management. Was in the US for three years; first at Burlington, MA and then at Spokane, WA, where my parents are currently settled. In fact, it was my mother who told me about RealSavvy Moms. She is a regular viewer of the TV show. I am settled in Pune, Western India. It used to be a small town, but due to the boost in the IT industry, it is now bursting at the seams! For those of you who follow the Hollywood buzz, it is here that the “Brangelina” clan spent most of their time last year on their visit to India. My husband, Mangesh, is an interior designer, which means he has no fixed hours. But the dear man is trying to spend as much time as he can with his little princess. So here is the basic introduction to our little unit. I do welcome your questions and comments, as it my first blog experience.

It has been one harrowing week! Mira had her first cold, and boy was she confused! Fortunately it was only nasal congestion and did not go any further. Its springtime here and with the weather changing allergies and viral infections are having a field day. All is fine now and we’re back to playing with sunlight and shadows. Kylie did have a lot of questions, didn’t she? :) I’ll start with a summary of my pre-pregnancy story. Don’t worry I won’t go too far back to how my husband and I met, because that would make a good blog on some “Love Stories” site. Just this much that, we’ve known each other since 1994, and got married in 2000. This baby was a precious one for us because we had been through a previous miscarriage. We took the decision to add to our family after five years of marriage, which is quite a long wait for the traditional Indian mindset. If there is no progeny within two years of marriage, anyone and everyone start questioning you. I remember an incident with a doctor that really shocked me. I was in college when we decided to get married, so obviously, having kids immediately was a big no-no. Besides, we wanted kids when we were ready, not because we were married. So we decided to visit a well-known gynecologist for birth-control options. This turned out to be a big mistake because her popularity had obviously gone to her head. When we told her that we did not plan on kids for at least five years she shot back, “then why are you getting married?” Now, I am someone who respects elders and avoids confrontations, and she is a lady who is my mother’s age, so all I could do was stare at her. I was completely in shock! Here was a lady who was a genius at her profession but obviously did not know her limits. I have not seen her face again! I first got pregnant in 2005, which unfortunately ended in a miscarriage. It was devastating for both of us. My brother, who was on a break after his undergraduate degree came down to India and stayed on for a month to help me get through this ordeal. God bless him. He helped me get back to normal and made me laugh again. Mangesh, my husband, was with me every step of the rough road to recovery. We have had to endure the test of time ever since we’ve been together. It has made us stronger and more committed to each other. In India, till about a decade ago people would blindly follow doctor’s orders, no questions asked! The newer generation prefers to arm themselves with information before visiting a doctor. This does not sit well with some of the old school doctors because they prefer to do the talking themselves rather than entertain their patients’ queries. As for me, I too ask a lot of questions and this proved to be a major hurdle with the doctors we met. We went through a battery of tests and changed doctors more than twice. All our test results came out normal, but we were unable to conceive. I was getting tired of all the ovulation monitoring and pill popping. Fortunately, a close friend told us about a very warm old gentleman of a doctor. At our first meeting, I knew I could completely trust him. What's more, I thought he resembled my grandfather, to whom I was very close to. Dr. Ghosh answered all our doubts patiently and suggested a diagnostic laproscopy. There was a tiny blockage in one of the Fallopian tubes. After the procedure, we tested positive within six months. So this pretty much sums up my pre-pregnancy experience. My pregnancy is a whole other story. Be sure to tune in for the next installment.

Hi! Taking a break from my life story ;) One of the latest issues in India is about the skewed sex ratio. The last census conducted in 2001 showed 933 females per 1000 males; in some states the ratio was as low as 861 females per 1000 males. The numbers indicate a sorry state of affairs indeed for the Indian males! The skewed ratio is largely due to the traditional Indian mindset of boys being the ones who will carry the family name forward. Ultrasound scanning which is actually a boon for pregnant women is really a curse for the unborn girl child! It is illegal in India to perform an ultrasound for sex determination of the fetus; yet many licensed practitioners perform such tests for a few extra bucks. To avoid any legal action they come up with innovative ways to indicate to the parents the gender of their baby. If you are called for your next appointment on a Monday then it is a boy, if on a Tuesday then it is a girl. Another one is the color of the ink the doctor signs the report with; if blue then it is a boy, if black or red then it is a girl. There are raids conducted from time to time by special squads to arrest such practices, but the sheer magnitude of clinics performing these tests and of the people asking for such tests is mind-boggling! So what happens once the gender of the fetus is determined as a female? Take your worst guess… It is really sad to see that on one hand Indian women are working shoulder to shoulder with their male counterparts on a national as well international level, and at the same time such atrocities are committed against the female sex! India truly is a land of contradictions!

It’s been more than a month since I’ve written my blog. Just read the RSM newsletter this week and saw my blog featured on it. It was a nice reminder for me…thanks! ;) I have been getting umpteen topics to write about but just haven’t had the time to write; rather, I’ve been too lazy to sit down and type! Mira started cruising this month, and boy has it been tough to keep her in put. My flip-flops, probably because of the red color, fascinate her and as soon as she gets a chance she wriggles towards them. All the pregnancy weight that I haven’t lost until now, I’m going to lose within the next three months! Hey, at least that’ll help me achieve my resolution for the year ;) I’ve been thinking of how to write about my birthing experience. For me, it is more of a blur because I was really concentrating on not freaking out! It didn’t go the way I wanted it to. What I wanted was a natural delivery, without an epidural and with my husband by my side all the way through. I was totally prepared for that; I had my breathing right, my mind relaxing right, even knew what to tell my husband if he freaked out! What I got was pre-eclampsia in the 36th week. My blood pressure was quite stable throughout the pregnancy, so I didn’t expect such a drastic circumstance. It went from 135/80 to 180/100. I was due on the 22nd of July, but had to be hospitalized on the 25th of June 2006 because I started contracting. The contractions stopped but my blood pressure was still too high, so I was asked to stay. The hospital I was in allowed only one relative to sleep over at night, my mother said she would stay with me, so my husband left for home at around 8 that evening after consulting with the ob-gyn. That night was probably the longest night of my life. Sometime around 9 pm I developed a massive headache. It felt as if a thousand hammers were banging non-stop inside my skull. I passed the night hugging my mother tight and holding on to her hand. The next morning, the ob-gyn came in and told me that she had no choice but to go in for an emergency c-section, because my blood pressure wasn’t stabilizing. Natural birth was out of the question because if they induced labor, I would go into shock, risking both the baby and me. We consented, and two hours later I was cradling my baby, all of 4.6 pounds, in my arms. She felt a light as a feather, but she was here and she was mine! I am really thankful to the ob-gyn who operated on me for taking the right decision. She had none of my previous history to refer, as I had to change physicians at the last moment, because my original ob-gyn was traveling to US for his yearly vacation. But she did a really great job of reassuring me throughout the procedure. The umbilical cord was wound tightly around Mira’s neck and the placenta was heavily calcified I was told. My husband couldn’t be with me during the birth because mine was considered an emergency case. I really didn’t understand what Kylie meant when she asked if I felt in control, all I know is I kept a calm mind and let the doctor take over, but only after I had cleared all my doubts. As of now, I am truly enjoying being a mommy. Mira’s responses and demands have become more specific and she absolutely loves playtime. She has these different smiles for different occasions. Her Mona Lisa smile is the best. It’s a shy smile but one where you can see the naughtiness in her eyes. [img]http://www.realsavvymoms.com/members/img.php?keyid=268#[/img] Then she’s got this wonderful toothless smile that she flashes when she is truly enjoying herself. [img]http://www.realsavvymoms.com/members/img.php?keyid=269#[/img] And boy does she love biscuits. We get these sweet and salty biscuits called “50-50” out here that she really enjoys.[img]http://www.realsavvymoms.com/members/img.php?keyid=267#[/img] I love watching her asleep, I love the way she smiles at me when she wakes up and I'm having loads of fun being a child with her. She’s my sunshine. Speaking of sunshine, we’re getting plenty of it here. Summer temps have already reached 90 and we have two more months to go. I am melting even with the air-cooler on full blast! Can’t wait to go swimming with Mira. My next post will be about post-pregnancy care in India. It is no less than a spa-experience here. Till then take care and stay cool!

Why am I [b]fishouttawater mama?[/b] Well, I think I was even before I became a mom. Growing up with a half-sister, a single-mother, in flashy ski resort in Colorado without a flashy income to match (although plenty of handmedowns and Christmas gifts from relatives who didn’t want their poor country cousins to embarrass them) did imbue me with a feeling of being on the outside looking in—an observer. Add to that the task of mothering my mother (cooking, making coffee—really, everything that comes with being the daughter of an alcoholic party-rock-star-groupie mom, pre-rehab—did you see Ab-Fab?) coupled with trying to help raise my younger sister too (um, you really shouldn’t be shoplifting, what if you get caught??) made me realize that I exist on my own island. Then, when I had Harris (he’ll be two in April,) everyone seemed to ask the same question: When is your mother coming? Well, my mom is not like everyone else’s mom. She doesn’t feel that maternal tug, didn’t have that desire to be at my side, helpful and cooing over a newborn (her first grandchild!) And while I love my mother dearly—that fierce loves that binds you to family and to those you have a history with, good or bad—she’s just not maternal. (Therapist mantra: “Accepting that is the first step.” Towards what, I don’t know) Having said that, she came to visit after six weeks. Why six weeks? Because that’s the first time my husband and I could “become intimate” as she calls it, after having the baby. What? Yeah, she wanted to fly in, from Colorado, and watch Harris for the weekend, for the first time, for the simple sake of allowing my husband and I to have sex. And for those of you moms out there—it’s probably all moms reading this, right?—you’ll know that THAT was the last thing on my mind. How about a shower, maybe a pedicure, and a long nap? She did come out to visit, and was out the door 24 hours later. Ah, motherhood. So, I guess that was my longwinded explanation of the fact that I am used to feeling like I live outside the prescribed norm—family-wise, certainly, and then my perspective, too I guess, is my own (as is everyone’s) in that it is not hemmed in by any particular stereotype of who I seem to be on the surface (a publishing exectutive, a lawyer’s wife, living on Manhattan’s upper east side.) Who am I? Someone trying her best to be a good mom; someone in love with her baby; someone who’s married to her best friend, although not without challenges; someone who, for the most part (I have my husband and his family,) is doing this on her own, with no support system; and someone who desperately wants to create the oasis for her child that she never had –all the while trying to climb the corporate ladder and maybe, just maybe, in her spare time, write a book or a poem or two. Maybe I should have called myself “desperately trying to mulititask and take on the world mama,” but doesn’t that describe us all? Mood: Contemplative

After I wrote the first two entries I experienced the euphoria that comes from sending it to a few close friends—instant positive feedback!—and after that passed, I felt the sinking sensation of over-exposure. How embarrassing—my innermost thoughts—musings, vanities—exposed now, for everyone to see in cyberspace. What could I have possibly been thinking? Better to write about other people, I eventually decided. Ah, sweet relief. Although, to be perfectly honest, there IS an upside. Where my other writing is stymied (lets just say “slow to form”) this stuff just pours out of me. And writing consistently—for a community of like-minded moms—could actually be a good thing. So I’ve decided to forge ahead—or, in the words of a less-euphemistic minded friend, “suck it up.” But I am still going to concentrate on writing about other moms this time… So here goes: One of my co-workers lives in Park Slope, Brooklyn—a hip enclave with beautiful old brownstones and mostly artsy publishing types with bucks. Her friends are same-sex domestic partners (ok, lesbians) who’ve adopted a kid. At the playground, the other parents are stand-offish, paranoid and basically don’t engage in conversation. She asks if it’s like that where I live, on Manhattan’s Upper East Side—or is it, as she suspects, because her friends are “different.” No, I assured her, it’s the same up here. Even though I happen to be one half of a married heterosexual couple (ok you’re average family) with a son who’s almost two—the other moms are exactly the same at MY playground. That is: standoffish, paranoid, and basically flat-out rude slash miffed when you try to start a conversation. Weird. Of course, not EVERY mom is that way—and when they aren’t, we both simultaneaously pull out our cell phones with relief and get eachother’s numbers—because it’s THAT rare! I was stranded in Starbucks for about twenty minutes with Harris in a stroller as it poured sheets of tsunami-like rain, and ended up talking to another similarly stranded mom. The conversation was natural, open, and we ended up sharing snacks for our kids—and then, GOT EACHOTHER’S PHONE NUMBERS because we NEVER meet people as easygoing, usually, in our neighborhood. Generally we (my husband, baby and I) just exist on our own island of three. This lady, this other mom, was perfectly lovely-- smart, educated, normal (which I am, I like to believe)--and my point is, I guess, that WE ARE NOT SOCIAL MISFITS! So why are we made to feel like ones? Well, let me tell you about some of the moms—that I adore and are part of my social set, and as another disclaimer, are genuinely nice people who I would vouch for and call in a crunch for any reason. AND I hesitate to write this because I don’t think it’s really fair to criticize other mothers and their personality quirks—we’re all different and god knows I am not perfect. SO with that disclaimer, I write this so you can get an idea of the current zeitgeist of motherhood in the UES. Think of this as a cultural outing. Courtney (not her real name) has a son who’s one week younger than my son, a great little boy who she is terrified of experiencing any physical hardship at any point. Which means, basically, that he never learned to crawl and just barely learned to walk. She carried him around like a doll and placed him in a seating position wherever they went, so much so that he never learned to lay on the floor, push himself up and crawl. After about 15 months he had to go to physical therapy for four weeks to strengthen his legs so he could learn how to walk. Now he is a walking machine, and I have to say, happy as a clam. A disclaimer here: she is beautiful, genuine and one of the least plastic people in a crowd of plastic bugaboo-and-stiletto moms-- just trying to protect her baby--and maneuver the new mommy landscape the best she can. Another friend, Mindy (another made-up name), is tremendously efficient and well-organized (a quality I greatly admire, by the way) so much so that she confided in me that “my nanny knows not to dress Emily is anything that I haven’t laid out for her—and if the outfit isn’t laid out, she knows to come and get me.” Which is one way to handle it, certainly, as our babysitter dresses Harris in a combination of madras, stripes and plaids that I think could only fly in the circus. ANOTHER friend, Amy, limits the amount of toys her son can play with in a day e.g. “pick three toys to play with and that’s it." Why? She wants to maintain order, or limit the amount of stimuli(I guess.) So, with that said, with my easygoing approach—if you can call religiously reading the week-by-week chart of my son’s growth his first year and calling the doctor when he had a fever over 100.1—I am in the minority. Or not. Who’s to say what’s right and what's wrong? Aren't we all just trying to do the best we can?

We didn't go out last night (we try to get a babysitter one night a week)--Harris was sick, I was home yesterday and he had a 103.5 fever. After baby Tylenol and 1 hour in the doctor's waiting room ("He has a fever, can you hurry???") we found out it will just pass in a few days, which it has already. Anyhow! There was an article on mommylit and mommy blogs in the NY Times Style section last weekend—did anyone see it? Lots of mommy books were mentioned, by moms just like us. Basically, I am just jealous because I haven’t sat my fat butt down and written a novel. Isn’t that what Hemingway said—the only thing that separates writers from non-writers is applying the seat of your butt to the seat of your chair? I’m sure I bastardized that quote, but it’s in the general neighborhood. I’m reading a book called [url=http://www.amazon.com/Lost-Hearts-Italy-Andrea-Lee/dp/1400061695/sr=8-1/qid=1168097218/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/105-2035430-8738003?ie=UTF8&s=books]Lost Hearts in Italy by Andrea Lee [/url]. She’s a terrific writer who used to write for The New Yorker, and it’s a novel about a young woman who, while living in Rome as a young mother, had an affair that destroyed her marriage. It’s beautifully written and takes you into that interior world that I think we all live in sometimes—where you just yearn to be outside yourself, and your own life for awhile. It’s also a wonderful cautionary tale about living too much in that fantasy world (hello Emma Bovary) and about having an affair—don’t do it!—and she touches on something that I really related to: falling in love with your child When you have a baby, it really is like falling in love, except this time, it’s coupled with an all-encompassing fear, and almost certain knowledge that if something happened to this baby it would be a heartbreak that you’d never get over. I am sitting at my desk (he's at swim class this morning with his dad--two hours to myself!)and I can picture his face and feel that tug at my heart—and am able to perfectly visualize his skin, and the goofy way he walks, and his concentration as he lays down, drinks his bottle, and plays with his feet, legs straight up in the air as we read a book together (my friend Christine, a yoga teacher, says we are all born as perfect yogis, and when you see a baby stretch, you can see what she means.) I guess the trick is reining in that love so your son (or daughter) has a healthy sense of self and a good life. I joke that Harris is going to live with me until he is 40 (hey, they do it in Italy!) but in all honesty, what kind of life would that be for him? My husband points out that don't we want for him to fall in love and be close to someone--to have a partner (besides his parents!) in this life? Well, yes, I do--just in his own sweet time. He's not even two yet, so I will, in the words of my lovely niece, try to "chillax" (chill out and relax, one of my new favorite words.)

First, I wanted to thank everyone who sent me comments (publicly and privately!)--I love it and really appreciate all of your comments. I visited a good friend (Jenna, shout out to you if you’re reading this!) and her new baby—born Tuesday January 2nd—this weekend, which has inspired me to list all the best advice that I received as a new mom. Some of this I received from other moms, and some of it I just learned myself, the hard way. A word of advice about advice: read as much as you can, talk to as many people who have experienced the same thing, and at the end of the day—trust your instinct and use your common sense. Most of the time, that is what will get you through. Feel free to chime in here at anytime: 1. You can supplement with a bottle, and formula, to get some sleep at night (let someone else do the feeding) without jeopardizing breast-feeding. 2. Get outside at least once a day and take a nice walk. 3. After about 3-4 months, you can get your baby on a schedule. It will work wonders for your sanity. A book that helped me through this stage was On Becoming Babywise [url= http://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Baby-Wise-Reference-Worldwide/dp/0971453209/sr=8-1/qid=1168281367/ref=pd_bbs_1/102-0728534-5222528?ie=UTF8&s=books]Amazon Link to On Becoming Baby Wise[/url]. It’s a bit militant, but I took the important points from it and it worked. (My dear friend Kelle recommended this one to me—and she gave me some of the best mommy advice, and still does!) 4. Another great one, written in a wonderfully chummy and comforting tone is The Girlfriend’s Guide to Surviving the 1st Year of Motherhood [url=http://www.amazon.com/Girlfriends-Guide-Surviving-First-Motherhood/dp/0399523308/sr=1-1/qid=1168281499/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-0728534-5222528?ie=UTF8&s=books]Amazon Link to Girlfriend’s Guide To…[/url]. This helped me through the trauma of getting my son to sleep through the night—epsecially the three-nights as he cried himself to sleep. She (the author, Vicki Iovine) rightly points out that this will be one of the most trying times in your marriage and as a parent. Knowing that other people felt the same way meant a lot. And after three nights, it really did work. 5. Clothes—don’t be ashamed to wear your maternity clothes a little bit longer, you will wear them for awhile. Then you'll discover the benefits of “transitional” clothes. I bought a very cute "transitional dress" for a friend’s wedding six weeks after my son was born, and no, I am not Heidi Klum. It was from Naissance on Melrose [url=http://www.naissancematernity.com/]Link to Naissance on Melrose site[/url], a LA site that has fun, non-maternity maternity clothes. Sizes run very small and when in doubt, go large. They don’t give refunds, only store credits, by they way. 6. H&M is another great resource. 7. Books and more books: Baby Signs [url=http://www.amazon.com/Baby-Signs-Talk-Your-Before/dp/0071387765/sr=8-1/qid=1168282158/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-0728534-5222528?ie=UTF8&s=books]Amazon Link to Baby Signs[/url]. This was fun to read and although I never taught my son sign language, I enjoyed the concepts, and you do end up signing with your baby in some way even if you don’t teach them traditional sign language. (A great gift from my great friend Aymee.) 8. Don’t speak to your baby in babytalk—use the real words and enunciate—and you will be surprised at how much they pick up. My son now tells me when he is frustrated, and it calms him when I say back to him “I know you are frustrated, but we have to leave now.” At least I GET it, he seems to be thinking, and we move on. 9. Baby Einstein dvds are great, especially when you need a break or need to take a shower. They actually do teach your baby stuff too. “On the Go” is a great one for boys, and Baby Beethoven was a lifesaver starting at three months, I think. 10. On that note, don’t feel guilty when you need to take a shower. The swing, a Baby Einstein dvd, and 10-15 minutes in the shower, while you get dressed & brush your hair, is worth it for your sanity. Five minutes of the baby crying while you do this will not scar your baby for life. 11. Play music—it is a great antidote to TV and they are so excited once they take classes with other kids and already know the songs. Klutz has some good CD packages, and the Raffi songs are good. I actually downloaded those onto my Ipod and made a dance mix for my song. He loves it. "Baby Beluga," "Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes" and "If You’re Happy and You Know It" are some of our favorites. I read somewhere that when the baby is in the womb, they hear sounds in stereo, and it is a comfort for them, afterwards, to hear music in the background. This has really proven true for my son. 12. The Beatles Lullaby is a terrific bedtime CD and won’t drive you crazy listening to it. [url=http://www.amazon.com/Bedtime-Beatles-Cover-Jason-Falkner/dp/B00005R62U/sr=8-1/qid=1168281850/ref=pd_bbs_1/102-0728534-5222528?ie=UTF8&s=music]Amazon Link to Bedtime With the Beatles[/url]. (Another gift from my fabulous friend Aymee.) 13. As soon as you can (three months is a good marker) get someone who you trust, or you can learn to trust, to babysit regularly. I know this can be expensive but it is really important for your sanity. 14. Baby Gap has great clothes and they go on sale often. 15. Barnes & Noble is a great place to stop by with your baby to kill an hour. If you have a great independent bookstore in your neighborhood, even better! 16. Once your baby starts eating real food, they will love edamame and soba noodles, so treat yourself to Japanese takeout! 17. You can add steamed brocolli or spinach to mac & cheese or eggs and they will eat it up gratefully and you are providing healthy sustenance for your baby. Nothing feels better than preparing good food for your baby and watching them relish it. Don’t be too saddened when your carefully prepared meal gets rejected and even worse, thrown. Experiment until you find the right thing. 18. In this vein—and it’s really easy (I am not one of those homemade babyfood moms although all the power to you if you are)—make a big pot of chicken or turkey soup. Then put it in the blender/cuisinart/ food mill and your baby will love it. It’s so easy to make too. Literally boil water, throw in chopped chicken or turkey breast, barley, broccoli, onion (it will add flavor and become sweet as it cooks) and a chicken or veggie boullion cube. I’d mix some cheese (light havarti or muenster) in with it when I blended it. My son loved it. 19. Plan a night out with the girls to feel normal again. Ditto on a date night with your husband—this is sooo important and I waited on this longer than I should have. 20. Your weight and appearance: try not to worry about the weight for 8 months or so—because it truly will start to melt off. It was about that time I went on the South Beach Diet to lose the rest. It worked although post-holiday weight gain is hard to avoid! I guess what I am trying to say is don’t drive yourself crazy early on trying to lost the weight. Give yourself time. 21. This is a great store in Brooklyn with highly edited flowy pieces—the dresses by Butter are very forgiving: [url=http://www.shopneda.com/]Link to Neda’s Store[/url]. Full disclosure: Neda is a friend, and she’s great—but I wouldn’t recommend her clothes unless they were great too! 22. For the first year, get a book or subscribe to a site that will give you a week-by-week summary of what to expect that week. It’s just interesting to watch their progress and it’s good to have a yardstick. 23. Get a digital camera, and take lots of pictures and send them to family and friends. It’s an easy way to keep everyone in the loop. I like Ofoto.com [url=http://www.kodakgallery.com/Welcome.jsp]Link to Ofoto[/url]. But there are lots of good ones out there. Once you have your pics online you can make a calendar as a holiday gift inexpensively—grandmas and aunts love these! 24. It’s impossible not to fight in front of your kid from time to time but when you do, stay calm, don’t call eachother names, and be sure to show them that you’ve resolved it afterwards. If you find that you are fighting a lot, don’t just try to talk yourself into thinking it’s normal. It makes your kid feel unsafe and nervous and like they’ve done something wrong. You’re only human, and this is a major life transition and bound to be stressful—it’s ok—but take care of yourself and find someone to talk to about it. Finding a good therapist really is a gift—and don’t be ashamed! I for one love my therapist. Now that you are a mom, it is your job to get in the best mental shape you can. Just do it! 25. Whoa, that was a heavy one, so here’s a transition one: don’t be afraid to question your doctor. If the advice seems not to fit—or goes against your instincts—by all means, ask around, talk to another doctor and get a second opinion. Doctors are only human too and don’t assume that they know everything. 26. Oh—speaking of doctors, two words: Lactation Consultants. If you found a good one, well then I’m jealous, because I only met Satan’s Spawn and her friend Nurse Ratchett. These people were awful and I mean awful. They just existed to make me feel guilty and bad about myself. I talked to another mom about this at the time, and she had the same experience, and I ended up saying “If I run into one of them at a cocktail party I am going to give her a piece of my mind.” (Big words!) And she rightly pointed out “You wont!” Meaning, of course, that Satan’s Spawn is a social outcast who wouldn’t deign to socialize when she can torment nervous new moms in her lactation house of pain. Ok ok they can’t be all bad (can they?) so ask around and get a recommendation. Just don’t assume that you will meet a nice one. How about that? 27. On this note, another good mommyfriend, Mollie, told me that I should feel comfortable doing whatever will help me enjoy my baby. For me, that was stopping breastfeeding. That piece of advice really made me feel better and more confident. Talk to nice supportive friends who’ve been there before and don’t be afraid to ask the uncomfortable questions (latching on, etc…) And I’ll end with that: Enjoy your baby! Do what you need to do to enjoy your baby—getting help, going back to work, staying home, breastfeeding, not breastfeeding—whatever is right for you. And since we all don’t have endless supplies of money and free time, give yourself a break, enjoy your baby, and pat yourself on the back, because however you do it, you are now embarking on the hardest, most rewarding job in the world and it is DEFINITELY worth it!

Yep, it’s true. Everybody poops. Mama poops. Mimi poops. Kitty poops. Fire truck poops. Well, we’re working on it. But this is the conversation in my house these days. And it’s confusing. Poopee or Peepoop? Are these one word, Harris wants to know? I read somewhere (I can’t remember where I read most things nowadays) that it’s important that your child doesn’t feel self-conscious about his bodily functions. It’s all natural. Enter Everybody Poops [url=http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?z=y&EAN=9780916291457&itm=1]Barnes & Noble Link to Everybody Poops[/url], the Japanese megahit that was embraced on our puritan shores and explains, quite simply, who poops, and as a bonus, what it looks like when each animal poops (a zebra and a hippopotamus poop differently, just so you know.) Anyhow it’s a classic and gets the point across: if it eats, it poops. And that’s all good. We were at B&N the other day, where we collected some books off the shelf and sat down on the dias in the center of the children’s section to read, surrounded by other kids, nannies, a few moms, and a dad or too. Harris assesses the situation, looks around, and announces proudly to noone in particular, but to what feels like the ENTIRE Barnes & Noble on 86th St: “MAMA POOPS.” Big smile on his face. Couldn’t be more pleased with himself and this undeniable fact. I, of course, cannot be embarrassed—everyone poops and the whole point is not to be embarrassed—so I just smile, nod my head, and begin to read a book about trucks. Ah the glamour. Just another day in the life. But under the surface I am thinking: this is what I’ve become, an unshowered woman in cargo pants that poops. If anyone looking at me found me vaguely attractive and/or interesting, now they are imagining me pooping. Or something. On the same topic—we’re here now, can’t leave yet—you know it's love when you ask your son, with real concern in your voice "was that just a fart, or an actual poop?" Or you explain gently why you think it’s not ok to wipe pee on the wall. Or you comfort your sweet little boy when he has pooped in the tub, and you have to evacuate the bath—early—while he just wants to play. He’s looking at the poop guiltily—he knows he did something wrong and the fun bath is now ruined—and you say “no that’s ok, we’ll play outside of the bath,” while glancing worriedly at the mess on the bathmat, the tubmat, his lower back, HIS LEGS, and wonder how is it possible that one little boy—one little butt—could make such a mess, literally destroying an entire bathroom (for the moment, at least.) Poor little boy. I say this to him comfortingly, as a mantra, and he looks at me with a goofy smile, says “poor little boy!” and laughs, like a hiccup. He fills me with joy, really. Yesterday, in the car he actually said “So happy. Mama happy. Car happy.” So, everybody poops, sometimes, but we’re happy, and that’s what counts. Note to readers of my last posting “Best Advice for New Moms”: One of my co-bloggers mentioned that there is a lactation consultant on this site, and I took a look, and she looks perfectly nice and reasonable. Not at all like Satan’s Spawn and her helper, Nurse Ratchett, who were both on night duty on my maternity ward. So it’s a stereotype, certainly, but there must be some good ones out there. I wonder if lactation consultants are like dentists and psychiatrists, with a high rate of depression because of their horrible reputation among non-masochists? Anyhow, in the spirit of fairness, I am including the link herewith: [url=http://www.realsavvymoms.com/lactation/index.php]Link to the Real Savvy Moms[/url] Even now if I dig back into the recesses of my mind, I vaguely remember a nice lady with a reasuring perky bob, a triangle silk scarf around her neck and sturdy, wide shoulders (was this before or after the percoset was offered?) who showed me how to hold Harris in a “football hold,” and it actually worked. And then she left, leaving Satan’s Span in her wake. But I digress.

Does anyone else feel guilty leaving their child/children with someone else during the day? A babysitter, a nanny, a grandmother—whomever it is? I do. I know my son is in good hands, and that we’ve established a routine that makes him feel calm and secure. And I know that when he cries when I leave in the morning, that it is just a dramatic moment, and that after I leave, he is fine. I know this because my babysitter tells me. So, when he is pulling at my boots—literally, pulling at them, because he knows once I put them on, I am out the door—crying “nooooo, nooooo, stayyy, playyy,” my heart shouldn’t break a little. When I say goodbye, at the door, and he says, “come back,” I say sweetie, I always come back, and then I think – I’ve become a pessimist now, as a parent, with an overactive imagination — what happens, god forbid, if I get hit by a bus, or a train, or a stray bullet (unlikely, as I don’t live in Fallujah.) Seriously, though, what I am trying to say is WHAT HAPPENS if I don’t come back, and now I’ve lied and disappointed my sweetie who is just going to have to learn to live with disappointment? Don’t even talk to me about kidnappers, child molesters and just all around sleazebags who exist to prey on children. As you can see, I am a more than a [i]little[/i] wracked with guilt leaving him everyday. I work full-time, and have a babysitter/nanny who comes at 8 am and leaves at 6 pm. She’s terrific, and has taken care of my son since he was 3 months old. We started slowly, at two days a week, 3 days a week, then 4, and finally worked our way up to 5. Our family knows her family; her sister was my sister-in-law's nanny for 13 years. So they are a wonderfull, extremely trustworthy family. Having said that, is it worth it to be away from my son every day of the week? When couples weigh their nights out, making sure it is something that is “babysitter worthy,” I wonder if my job is “nanny worthy.” Which is why I left my last job, with a horrible maniacal boss and drama every day; I thought, this is what I am leaving my son for every day? No way. I had an Erin Brokovich moment. This [i]is[/i]personal: “it’s time away from my kids, and if that’s not personal, I don’t know what is!” (I also started wearing tight boobalicious tops, but that’s another story.) Only kidding. So I got a new job, with a non-maniacal boss and a better work environment, and I still wonder, is this worth it? What’s ideal? What do I WANT? What I want, I think, is a job where I work 3 days a week. Wouldn’t that be nice? Enough time to get the satisfaction that I am working on my career (I’ve worked hard at it), using my brain (seriously, it turns to mush quite easily when I don’t engage it, it’s a scary thing) and socializing (which, beyond work, I don’t do very often anymore.) But I don’t like leaving my sweet little boy every day, and short of winning the lottery ( I was really counting on that last Megamillions jackpot, such a disappointment) I have to find a way to balance work, taking care of my son, and getting some "me time" as well. I haven’t found the answer but what [i]they[/i] say ([i]they[/i], not sure who [i]they[/i]are in this case) is to take time for yourself and not feel guilty about it, because it makes you a better mom. Well, not sure if it makes me a better mom, but I did get a pedicure the other day after my son looked at my toes, with the horrible peeling red nail polish that had been there for an unspecified amount of time (am really trying to NOT gross you out) and said “what happened, Mama?" Umm, poor hygiene sweetie. You know that book we read where Elmo talks about hygiene? Take a bath everyday, wash your hands after you go to the bathroom, don’t take a cookie if you aren’t going to eat it (I love that one)? Well, Mama has poor hygiene. I guess that’s why “me time” is important—to take care of yourself so that you can better take care of your son. I’m not talking about pedicures here, really, (am really not that shallow) but about the whole gamut: work, play, kid time, you time, and balancing it all. That’s the trick, I guess.

While filled with amazement at my son and his intelligence, and spirit, I was struck by something: He’s his own person, and I am just his caretaker. More than that, of course—I’m his mom and am bonded to him forever with a fierce protective devotion—but he has his own mind, and will go out in his own direction, and I am just helping him grow up and get there. I can already feel him pulling away and asserting his independence—isn’t that natural? I remember before he could walk, and how the idea that he could actually get up and walk out that door, on his own, was terrifying. It still is—and should be I guess, as he is not even two yet—but what happens when he is five or six and just opens that doorknob and walks out? I was seriously considering one of those tracking chips, implanted in his arm or in some other undisclosed location. Then a friend, most likely trying to talk me through my escalating paranoia, pointed out (thank you very much, Amy) that a character on “24” had one of those tracking chips, which they detected with a scanner, and subsequently cut out of his arm while he was strapped to a table. Hey thanks again, Amy, if I didn’t thank you enough the first time (sicko.) I actually talked to someone (ok a pediatrician) and brought up my sometimes overwhelming fear that something may happen to my son. Mainly kidnapping. I am scared to even write it, in case that makes it real and somehow more plausible. But he very reasonably pointed out that it is actually very rare for these cases to happen—which is why the few cases that do are so publicized—and that letting myself be overcome by this terror gets in the way of enjoying the moment, and all the good things that are happening right now. Was I always waiting for the next shoe to drop, so to speak, when I was growing up? Always waiting for the next crisis, because it always seemed to inevitably happen? Why yes, why do you ask? Well, perhaps that has something to do with your inability to enjoy the moment and accept it for what it is. Hmmm...how I love being psychoanalyzed by the layman. Or whomever. BUT when I take a deep breath and actually think about it, I can see that it’s a good time in my life where nothing bad is happening, and probably won’t be happening, anytime soon. In fact, my favorite moment of the day is when my son curls up in a goofy giggle, or when he hears some music in the background of “Thomas the Tank Engine” and looks at me and says, very matter-of-factly (I’m making up words now that I’m an optimist), “trumpet.” And as I slow down and actually listen, I can hear a trumpet in the background. How does he know that? He was so captivated by the band at the Christmas Tree Lighting IN DECEMBER, that he now actually remembers what a trumpet sounds like? Obviously he is brilliant (I’m kidding naturally and then of course quite serious) and has an acute ear for background instruments and will soon be on stage at Lincoln Center.... My point being, that I am enjoying this-[i]motherhood[/i]-and why shouldn’t I? Since I am determined not to put any of my [i]childhood crap[/i] (is that a bona fide psychological term?) on my son, I am making the effort to not envision horrible scenarios. I have to say that watching the news and reading the paper doesn’t help. I’m a big fan of fiction. And, on that front, if anyone has a good book to recommend, I’m in. One disclaimer here: I’ve read a lot and am picky, but I am open to suggestions. Nothing too sappy like [i]Tuesday’s with Morrie[/i] please. I may be channeling my optimism, but that doesn’t extend to a sudden desire to dip into some piece of syrupy non-fiction (just saying.) How about something well-written and not too dense? I’m a Mom, after all, who needs something entertaining and then some sleep—so if anyone feels like recommending a 600-page political biography, thanks but no thanks. (I am pretty sure no other mom would do that to me!) If I didn’t scare you off (like I said, or rather implied, sappy wimps need not apply) please send me your recommendations. As you can see, I’m still in the beginning fazes of [i]“channeling my optimism.”[/i] And to my friend Jenna, whose son was born on January 2nd and just had her first 4-hours of consecutive sleep: Hang in there! I know you are loving it and taking good care of him, and I just wanted to remind you that if ever the schedule is driving you crazy, it’s only temporary. At around 3-4 months you will have a nice routine down pat. I’m thinking of you!

That’s what my son said the other night, from his crib, when we weren’t coming to get him. He lets us know what he wants. He gets infinitely more verbal—smarter, more articulate, better able to express himself and mimic us, everyday. In fact, he’s a terrific mimic. I was reading part of About Alice by Calvin Trillin in the bookstore the other day. [url= http://www.amazon.com/About-Alice-Calvin-Trillin/dp/1400066158/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/102-3743350-0938512?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1173207831&sr=8-1] Amazon Link to About Alice[/url] It’s full of life—with lots of wisdom and family anecdotes about a woman who was a kind, interesting person, a mother to two daughters and wife and muse to a successful writer. But she was never boring. Her husband is still mourning her death, and celebrates her life, in this book. He talks about a letter she wrote—she saved all the important letters she wrote or received in a folder marked “important things” to the daughter of a friend who had been attacked, a girl they had known since she was a young girl. Alice compared the attack to her own struggle with cancer (cancer of the lung that would eventually kill her), making the point that these difficult, traumatic, life-changing events do teach you something. While they are in no way the same, and of course, not the way you would have chosen to learn these lessons, given a choice--they have the upside of leaving you open to experiencing life most completely. I think there is some truth in that. And it makes you more interesting, that’s for sure. Humor comes from sadness, as they say. I visited with my cousin last weekend in Denver. She’s really terrific, a mother of two, a busy work-at-home mom with an equally busy physician husband, juggling it all. What strikes me now though is something that we have in common—something we do without realizing it. We both tell traumatic or hurtful stories, about growing up in our family, in an entertaining style full of funny ridiculous asides that leave the listener not sure of whether they want to laugh or cry. And then we let them off the hook, as if we were just kidding, it really wasn’t that bad, and carry on with our own secret knowledge of what it felt like, how strange it felt to be disconnected from everyone, the shame it felt being “different.” But one thing we always shared in our family was humor—no matter how crazy it got, we could always find a way to laugh about it later. People within our family—my mother, my Aunt (her step-mom) and her father (my uncle) were laugh-out-loud hilarious personalities who could hold the attention of a room and certainly the attention of four young impressionable girls (me, my sister, and my two cousins). And we were lucky to have that, that sense of the ridiculous, those belly laughs at the table where everyone is laughing so hard they are crying. My son has discovered humor, too at 23 months old, and it’s a decidely goofy sense of humor. The other day a mom and her young daughter at the playground asked him his name. He said, without missing a beat, “Applesauce” and then laughed wholeheartedly at his own hilarious (to himself!) joke. For the rest of the day we kept saying “Applesauce!” and he’d throw his head back and giggle, catching my eye every now and then, his big appled cheeks and gap toothed smile --definitely my favorite moments of the day. What a nut. I’m glad he appreciates a good laugh, and it makes me happy thinking about how much he will enjoy his life now that he appreciates a good belly laugh, however silly.

This weekend we had my son’s 2nd birthday party. I think I might have enjoyed it more than he did. Which is not to say he didn’t enjoy himself. For about 2 weeks I’ve been telling him about his upcoming birthday party, describing it in detail, so much so that all last week, when he woke up, he’d pop his head up over his crib and say “Birthday?” We had it a place called The Art Farm in New York City, where they have music, an art activity, and time with the animals. They basically have a whole petting zoo in their basement, with bunnies, turtles, guinea pigs, mice, birds, fish, lizards, and even chinchillas (did you know that it takes about a 100 of these harmless animals to make a coat?) Ten kids ran around petting animals, watched a giant turtle walk by with a lizard perched on his shell, and played inside the pen with the bunnies. It was chaos, but controlled chaos, with three “helpers” in red & white checked shirts and overalls, who were very efficient, almost too efficient, handling me like the paying client I was and moving the party along like clockwork. (Only later did it occur to me that they had another party the hour after ours, and while we should enjoy, we should enjoy on time and move on). During the music segment, all the kids were sitting around in a circle while someone led them in songs. My son was sitting in the middle of the circle with a tambourine and a maraca, happy as a clam. I just assumed they asked him to sit in the middle as the birthday boy (I was saying hello to some friends who had just arrived) but in fact, he just jumped right in there and led the group. I never would have had the confidence to be the center of attention like that, and I watched him with amazement, and pride, that he’s able to do that. He’s a happy, outgoing confident kid. Which leads me to reflect on my own birthdays. I couldn’t wait for his birthday party, and to see the excitement in his face as we talked about the details (a Thomas cake! Animals! Music!), and then to have all those kids there celebrating him. Since the person that reads my blog more religiously than anyone, and subsequently takes whatever I say as a personal jab at her, is my mother, and who feels obliged to send me long, rather detailed and it must be said, just outright nasty e-mails (“Listen Mrs. Upper East Side…I hope you have a nice life!”) I’ve been taking an unintentional (unconscious) hiatus. But a few kind diehard fans have asked me “what happened to your blog?” and after explaining that my mother happened, I decided that as a soon to be 35-year old woman, and a mother in my own right, I should be immune from my own mother’s comments. So, mom, if you’re reading this, here’s a disclaimer right from the start: if you think that I am saying this to offend you personally, if you are jealous/nervous/sad/embarrassed/wish I would re-write history to make you look better, well, don’t read on. Ok, disclaimers aside (xanax, anyone?) here’s what birthdays were like in my house. No, it wasn’t like a “Breakfast Club” Christmas (“You know what I got for Christmas? Oh it was a banner f***ing year at the old Bender family. I got a carton of cigarettes. The old man grabbed me and said ‘smoke up Johnny.’”) There were no cigs, or at least, no cartons of cigs given to me as a gift. But I do remember my ninth or tenth birthday, which happened to be the same day as my cousin Lexie’s (my mother would say she wasn’t my cousin, but her father was married to my Aunt, so we were cousins, if you know what I mean). I digress. We went to her birthday party, it was in a park, at sunset, and we walked through a path, through the trees, into a clearing, with anticipation. She’s four years younger than me, but even so, I must have pointed out that it was my birthday too. “Just pretend it’s your party, too” my mother told me. Hmmm… let’s try that. I did, up to the point of the birthday cake that said “Happy Birthday Lexie,” standing next to her awkwardly as she blew out the candles, playing with her friends, in the woods, all of whom were younger than me and disinterested, and mostly sitting alone on the edge of picnic table. This was clearly not my party, and frankly it didn’t feel very nice pretending it was either. Actually it felt a bit shameful and was a total letdown. I knew that other kids were celebrated (my cousin, for example!) but it was only later that it occurred to me that I could throw my own parties, whenever I felt like it, in honor of myself or whomever I choose. Even better, now I have the pleasure of showing my son that he is special, that he deserves to feel confident and good about himself consistently, that he can be honored by a group of friends and family just for being him. It’s a nice feeling.

This weekend I told my husband it’s important for our son to have a brother or sister. He was a bit shocked because although I think this was always his hope (he’s a traditional guy, at heart), he thought I was set on our son being an only child. While we love being parents—and I love being a mom—I’ve been mostly set on having only one child, in order to be able to give our son everything he needs, and all the attention he deserves. But lately I’ve started to consider how this will affect him as an adult. Will I be the controlling grasping mom when he is in college and brings his girlfriend home, someone who he will eventually marry and build a life with, apart from me? Because that is the goal—happiness and self-sufficiency—and maybe I’d put too much pressure on him if I pin all my hopes and expectations on just him—about what he studies, where he lives, who he eventually marries. Would that make him happy? (I just read a book where the main character is like this—it made an impression). Now of course, I may not be that way (it’s not really my personality, when I think about it) and may be lovely and understanding and highly evolved (well, I’d like to believe that’s more my style), putting his happiness before mine and calmly letting him make his own decisions, offering sage advice only when asked and unconditional support when needed, because I trust him and believe in him. That might be too high a bar, but hopefully I will be content enough with my own life apart from him so that I don’t get overly involved. That would be great too. But I would love for him to experience the joy of having a brother or sister. I know there are times when I don’t want to talk to anyone else but my sister—she’s the only one who grew up the exact same way that I grew up and knows me inside and out. How awkward and imperfect I can be, how brave and graceful at times. When she compliments me—or for that matter, tells it like it is (apparently I can be bossy and judgmental)—it resonates and touches me more than anything else. Besides, he may be better off with a brother or sister. Someone to commiserate with (“our parents are so embarrassing, yet they think they are soooo cool”) and someone to take the sole focus off of him. We may regret not having another one – our son is so great, really – while we still can. There’s also this horrible underlying worry that something may happen to him, a worry that I am not sure ever goes away, and maybe another child will take some of that nervous pressure off of focusing solely on one little boy and all the good and bad things that could happen. Maybe it will help with perspective. I also feel guilty about my friends who can’t have kids: the ones who want to but can’t; who haven’t found the person they can start a family with and are wondering if they ever will; and the ones who have one child, and now that their marriages have ended, they don’t see having another one anytime soon. Do I have some sort of obligation to have another if I can? Intellectually, of course, I know that’s not the case, but some part of me feels selfish for sticking with just one. There are other concerns too, some of which I am embarrassed to admit. I’ll gain weight again, never mind that I still haven’t lost all the baby weight from two years ago when my son was born. Here’s my chance to get into shape before the summer. Late night feedings, teaching a new baby how to sleep through the night, breastfeeding—all of these things make me squirm and remember how tired I still feel now on a good day. There are many options. How about waiting until our son is four and in pre-school or pre-K? How about adopting an older kid from the foster care system? I know that’s fraught with it’s own set of issues but I really cannot stand hearing about all the older children who have been in foster care since they were three or four and are now too old to be adopted by a young couple who want a baby. Where do they go, where’s their chance at a nice life? Maybe I can help that way. And, this planet of ours is overpopulated as it is, and shouldn’t I try to minimize my genetic footprint (is that the term?) as much as I can and take care of my own small family instead of overcrowding the earth even more? I happen to have a few good friends who I admire who grew up as only children and they are happy and well adjusted people, real mainstream society types— not remotely the type of people you’d find living in their parent’s basements torturing small animals (for example). So that’s a plus—only children can be well adjusted—maybe even more so—then someone with siblings. That still may be the answer and I believe he would have a perfectly wonderful life if that were the case too. I like the idea of just the three of us against the world. Who knows what the future brings or how his adulthood will turn out. But I have my ideas, obviously. For now I’ll focus on living in the present, always a good idea.

Hi, my name Anissa Malloy. I’m the 35 year old mother of one very active about-to-turn two year old boy named Hunter and am currently incubating the second. The second one is slated to arrive only a few days after Hunter’s second birthday at the end of September. Yes, I will be mondo pregnant for the entire hot, sweltering, please-kill-me-now New York summer. Yes, I did the same exact thing with the first child and apparently did not learn from the first underwire bra melting experience. I did not think the second attempt at motherhood would take so quickly (read:once!). However over the course of my son’s short existence on this planet I have discovered that rarely do you stay on the road that you planned to take .You always seem to get to the destination but God knows that you just about never go exactly according to the map. You hit four detours, get thrown up on, are given bad directions, lose a binky and a bit of sanity (if not all of it, I’m currently at 15% sanity capacity) on the way. These days I’m lucky if I remember to put on underwear, I’m supposed to follow a plan? Anyway, I’m looking forward to sharing my moments in the trenches with everyone. The good, the bad and the ugly. I hope you’ll smile, nod in recognition and laugh with me (or at me, whatever makes you feel good).

Today was going to be a good day. A day filled with out-of-the-house activity and fun in the sun. I’m always wracked with guilt since we live in an apartment in Brooklyn and there is no backyard for Hunter to run around in (Hunter [i]NEEDS[/i] to run). The Mommy Guilt beats me to a bloody pulp and I jump at most opportunities to get him out. We had an invitation to a friend’s house for the afternoon. Nice big backyard, pool and plenty of children his age to play with. We also have our Music Together class that morning. I figured great! Outside the entire day. No guilt beating and a tired Hunter which makes for a good nap at the end of the day. He still takes two naps. One in the morning and one in the afternoon. The afternoon nap dictated by the amount of activity encountered during the course of the day. Perhaps some free time for mommy (ok, so there was some ulterior motive there, but still). It was going to be a nice beginning for the weekend. My son had other ideas. Hunter made the decision today that we was not, under any circumstances going to nap. At all. No napping makes for much whining and throwing, topped with a tantrum or two for good measure. Fine, I can handle it. I’m a mom. A very seven months pregnant mom. Who currently cries when the elevator takes too long to come. Well I will spare you all of the gory details (got hit in the head with the remote, a dish was broken, little hands were pried off of dogs twice, one hour traffic jam with whiny hungry child who was hungry because he threw most of his lunch at the dogs, this was all before 1pm…), however I would like to share the closer: Since there was no napping today I decided to give him a bath and put him to bed about an hour earlier then usual. He loves bath time. Runs to the door and knocks on it as soon as I mention the word. Filled up the tub. Laced with lavender bubbles (I own most “sleepytime” or “relaxing” scented baby products) I placed him in and washed him down. I shampooed his hair and sat and watched him play for a bit. I needed to rinse his hair and realized the little cup that I use was in the dishwasher. So I went to the kitchen to get it. Now realize I live in a Brooklyn apartment. It is not the TajMahal. The dishwasher is literally five steps from the tub. I get the cup and return, and I hear him yammering away in his little language that I find so unbearably cute and heart-melting. I walk back in our tiny bathroom and start sniffing. Peculiar odor. Hunter is standing and offering me something. I reprimand him for standing but I put out my hand and he clasps his little palm around mine. Seeming quite proud of his offering. The consistency alarms me, does not feel like a bath toy. And then I look down. He has just handed me his own poop. Holy Crap! Literally. He has just deposited one of the largest loads I have seen this toddler take. Floating and bobbing aimlessly next to the bubbles and rubber ducks. Immediately I need to get him out of the tub. I go to grab him under the arms to yank him out (Husband is not home yet to yell and scream at for help…) He has a fistful in the other hand. I am trying very hard to get his hands open but he is fighting me tooth and nail. It’s his treasure and he’s keeping it at all costs. I am having trouble with the lift and execution because of the enormous protrusion that is my belly, all the while trying to avoid any smears of aforementioned poop. It is not pretty but I manage to get the, ahem..pellets out of his other hand and him to his changing table. Wipe him down with antibacterial. And give him a bath to cleanse him of his previous bath. Boy, I am wiped. He is down for the evening and tomorrow is another day. Ten bucks says he’s up at 6am because he went to bed early.

When does it finally dawn on the significant other that pregnancy might slow us down and put a crimp (to put it mildly) in our routines or anything that we do for that matter? We had a party this afternoon. It was in walking distance of our home. Now I don’t know how everyone else does it (like I said I’m learning) but right now, when we have a mid-day function to attend as a family the procedure is as follows: 1. Get boy out of bed early so that he will nap before lunch 2. Caffeinate Mommy (yes I still have a cup of coffee in the morning…) 3. Feed boy breakfast and let him watch lotsa Noggin to keep him quiet so mommy can figure out what on God’s earth she can still get over her freak show belly and still look party pretty – this process takes a good hour sometimes two. Make sure all outfit accessories are with outfit to make dressing a smooth process. 4. Shut off Noggin and let him run,throw and scream himself ragged to induce exhaustion. Meanwhile obsess over what a bad mom you are because you just further ruined your son’s development and life by designating the tv a babysitter. 5. Give bottle and put in crib for nap 6. While boy is sleeping take shower, iron all cloths, child’s ensemble first. 7. Yell at husband because he is not helping. 8. Pack diaper bag. 9. Yell at husband again because he forgot to buy card/gift for function And remind him how this was a choice you made and shouldn’t be a life sentence. 10.When boy arises, take him out of crib, strip down to diaper, put in highchair to be fed lunch (lunch preparation takes place during yelling at husband) you may question the feeding of child prior to function, but since toddler’s diet consists mainly of “ronies”, bananans and cheese, you shrink from chancing hunger meltdown tantrum in middle of function 11. After feeding, wipe down sticky toddler and dress. Do not put on shoes and socks. Shoes will only come off and bottom of socks will discolor or be lost altogether. 12. Get yourself ready. 13. Leave as a happy family Except, it never goes like this. Especially now that I’m pregnant. I move so unbelievably slow and my ankles feel as if they are about to snap. I have to sit down to iron. Actually, I have to sit down to do anything these days. So the ironing never got done and the shower stretched over (the whole depilatory process is virtually impossible these days but nevertheless must be done…) into the number 7 phase. I completely forgot about number 8 till the boy was in his stroller. You pretty much get the idea. Now I know you’re wondering, what does this hafta do with significant others and crimps? I’m getting to it. See, the whole routine to get us out into the daylight appearing as well put together individuals takes much effort on the Mama’s part. You know it, I know it, the husbands even know it. I have to start literally the evening before figuring out what I need to take for Hunter and if I even have anything clean to work with for myself. The husband is pretty much on his own. So by the time I got to the part where I had to get myself ready, the party had already started and was in full swing. So as I stood there with soaking wet hair in a sports bra and one of the few pairs of PJ pants that still fit me, ankles and feet in full blown sausage mode, crossing my legs because giant fetus felt as if it was going to fall out, I said to the husband “OK, why don’t you take Hunter and go on ahead of me,…?” He looks taken aback and says and I quote: “Well why don’t I go ahead and you get ready and meet me there with him…?” I swear the world stopped right there. *Dead silence* Death rays emanating from my eyes like a 1970’s superhero cartoon. In my mind I got a pot and promptly hit him with it like one of those other 1970’s cartoons You’re friggin’ kidding me right? Where’s your head man? Except I don’t think I said it that nicely. I don’t remember what I said because I was blinded by gestational anger. All I know is that the look on his face pretty much conveyed that he now fully understood and would get out of the apartment as fast as possible with child in tow, in order to avoid any further hormonal wrath and conflict. How hard is it to notice that doing anything with a twenty pound cement ball tied around your waist and a 24 pound giddy rearing-to-go toddler wrapped around your ankles is not a exactly a cakewalk? To his credit (and I give him lots ‘cause despite what I may vent here, he is a great and helpful husband) he just kind of forgets that I’m pregnant. I don’t know how considering I resemble an angry puffer fish, but he sometimes overlooks it because his world is just as fast paced and nutty as mine. So he doesn’t always realize that life is a bit more frenetic but the pace is not matching and what used to take me fifteen minutes, now takes fifty. But don’t you worry. I will lovingly remind him each time he has lapse in judgement. And I will be visualizing the whole ‘hitting him over the head with the pot cartoon thing’ each and every time. You should give that visualization a shot the next time someone pisses you off, it’s quite cathartic actually.

Omigod, what on God’s green hell hole of an earth is going on with this heat? Can you say “edema”? Ok, so I’ve established that I am in the full throes of the last trimester of this pregnancy and will be due at the end of September. And I have also mentioned that due to poor planning on my part (read:stupidity) this is the second time I have gotten myself knocked up in this time frame. Leaving me super full blown up pregnant for the summer. Now this would be fine if say I lived somewhere like, I don’t know, Greenland? But here in smelly-sweaty-hot-gross-omigod-I-hope-they-pick-up-the garbage-today-New York, not the best of choice for a due date (if you have a choice…) We were invited to a birthday party today. It was held in the backyard of a dear friend out on the Island (Long Island - we are so cool here in New York that we usually add the word “the” to some place we’ve shortened a couple of syllables…) I was excited for my son, simply because he would be out in a yard. (I should just refer to this as the Yardless Mommy Guilt Factor or YMGF for short, as I’m sure you will be hearing a lot about that during the next coupla months.) He would be with children his age and he would be somewhat out of my hair. Perhaps I could have a fractured conversation or two with the other Mom’s (my friends) that didn’t entirely revolve around allergies and poop or even a whole conversation about anything period. However as I watched the weather report sipping on my one measly cup of coffee I felt all chances of adult interaction slipping away from me. Cruelly and Slowly I watched my plans of fat pregnant mom on a chair in the shade watching the boy in a baby pool slip away with each rise of the degrees that they show in the stupid right hand corner of all the morning news shows. Then I saw the stupid scrolly thing that goes across the bottom…“HEAT ADVISORY! STAY INDOORS! DON’T GO OUTSIDE UNLESS EMERGENCY! YOU AND YOUR CAR WILL DIE A HIDEOUS MELTING DEATH!... I just couldn’t fathom running around after him in a backyard in that heat with all this extra um..padding. The feet sausage syndrome is also exacerbated by high heat and humidity (at least in my case…)Fine, we were staying put in the comfort of our air conditioned box. I know there were other mom’s there, but I just have trouble with leaving the responsibility with anyone. Not because I don’t trust them, these are my friends, but they have their own children to keep from maiming themselves and my son is well,….nuts. I felt terrible, I called my friend. She let me go easy. She said she was letting me off the hook ‘cause she knew that it would suck for me and was calling me to let me know it was really ok and that she knew I would feel really bad and probably cry. My friends are good to me. So I was happy. I put him down for his nap and tried to plan some indoor activities for us to do that did not involve the TV. It went pretty much like this: *sound of crickets* My God, what kind of mother am I? Omigod I am going to be trapped in here with bounce off the wall boy, the target for giant flying legos and restless feet. Then Hunter woke up from his morning nap, I went to change him and realized I had one diaper left. He had not pooped yet and I had no back up diaper. This is the equivalent of being on the highway in the middle of the stark empty desert in the Arizona sun and totally running out of gas and your miles away from anything remotely resembling a gas station AND you got road kill stuck in your tire tread so the smell won’t go away. There was no way out of it. We were going to have to venture outside. I needed to prepare. I turned on the tv to see how hot it was. 95 friggin’ degrees. Global warming has kicked in full force and I was about to push a squirmy toddler, who only wanted to run into the horizon, in a stroller two blocks to get diapers. Wet my hair. Dressed as light and as appropriate as a pregnant woman could. Schmata’ tank top and skirt. Flip Flops, had my keys, had my wallet. Forced Hunter in the stroller and off we went. We got to the front door and out we went. I felt like I was standing next to the engine of a city bus at a stoplight. If anyone ever stood next to one of those on a hot summer day, they know, this is holy hell hot. Except I couldn’t get away from it. Ugh. Oxygen felt almost non existent. Whatever, I would have to deal, the diapers were a necessity. Shortly after I started walking I noticed a um, discomfort. Let’s just say the um…friction factor…was wreaking great havoc on my overblown thighs. Powder! Jeez I forgot the powder. *shakes fist in the air* damn you talc! I forgot to powder my legs. If you are pregnant in the summer, powder is your best friend. Live for the powder, love the powder, become one with the powder. It is your savior. And I had carelessly left without so much as acknowledging it. All in the name of literally saving my son’s precious butt from the painful effects of diaper rash (of course all due to my total disregard for diaper inventory) and I now have a painful heat rash myself. But it was the price I had to pay to avoid pushing an acrid smelling child in the searing New York heat avoiding all the obvious stares because my son smelled like a decaying pile of compost on the hottest day of the year. You do what you have to folks, you do what you have to. Tomorrow it’s supposed to go up to 102. This time I am prepared. I have diapers [i]AND[/i] coloring books.

So I went for that stupid 1 hour test last week. You know the one where they check for the gestational diabetes. Your drink that hideous glucose drink and then they draw some blood an hour later and send you on your way. Most likely it’s a waste of your time and they tell you at the next appointment that your fine. Well of course in my case it didn’t go that route. This was to be expected of course. I was unfortunate enough to suffer from the curse of the GD the last time. So it was no surprise to me when I got the phone call two days later from the Dr’s. office asking me to schedule an appointment for the dreaded three hour test. Aside from truly serious complications, this is probably the worst fate a woman, who has given up every vice she had (and enjoyed…) for the sake of the life she was growing within, can suffer. You’ve given up drinking along with the casual cigarette that you had with the drink (no preaching please, thanks..), your social life has dwindled due to swelling, exhaustion and the fact that your arches are starting to collapse under the extra weight you have accumulated over the last several months. You can’t take any drugs when you are sick or have a splitting headache that was induced by a 35 minute tantrum, nothing, you are simply au natural. But you still have the food. The glorious food. The ice cream. The macaroni and cheese. The cheeseburgers, the lasagna. Yes you throw in a salad and some vegetables in there for balance but you eat like you never have eaten before. You consume everything with gusto because, well, there isn’t really much else for you to do. Ex: The last time I was pregnant I had a wedding to attend. Everyone was out on a deck in the sun, with their frozen margarita’s and ice cold beers, smoking cigars. It was a great time for all, but I was not part of it. So where was I? I was inside sitting at the table eating a tray of cookies. The entire tray. If the tray was edible I would have ate it. Anyway, so I had to go for the three hour torture session today. 9am appointment. You need to fast for like 12 hours before which means you can’t even have a cup of coffee in the morning before you go. You may as well give me a lobotomy. The fast I can deal with (well by the end of the three hours your ready to eat your flip flop) but the coffee thing, not so much. Let’s put it this way, my husband implemented the rule in my home that states; “Wife is not allowed to speak before ingestion of required amount of coffee returning her to natural cordial and somewhat likeable state”. So no coffee is bad. Very bad. Fine, whatever, I gotta do it. I get up, take a shower. Grumble about no coffee, grumble about boy getting breakfast, grumble at boy, grumble at husband. Snap at dogs. Throw a flip flop because it’s mate is missing. Get my keys. Grumble instructions for keeping Hunter alive and slam the door behind me. Oh it’s going to be a pleasant day. I drive around looking for a spot. The meters are all open. I park, I get out and then I see why. Stupid meters. Broken. Says FAIL in weird digital letters. Get back in car. Move to other spot. Get out. Dammit. Stupid FAIL. Move to next spot. Get out. For the love of God I don’t care! It is melting sweaty hot I am gargantuan pregnant, and I am a block away I am leaving my car here and I don’t give a rat’s patootie (not actual word used) about any stinking broken meter. I have not had coffee yet, I am starving and it is not my fault that the stupid city can not have the decency to provide my neighborhood with parking meters that actually work. I kicked it at least twice, in my mind of course. Pregnant woman kicking parking meters induces too much staring which may cause them to cry or throw down, depending on the woman. I get to the Dr’s. office. Pleasantries exchanged, I walk to the back and immediately get poked for blood. For the base reading. And then she hands me the giant bottle of green goo. I have to drink this whole bottle. I look at her and look at the bottle. “This is a lot bigger then the one from last week, I have to drink this whole thing? ” She responded without blinking, “why yes it is and yes you do”. Nice. I go in the waiting room with the Styrofoam cup and bottle of neon green unleaded goo. I pour a cup. Take a gulp. Good Lord Jerimiah. This stuff is like concentrated lemon lime syrup. You could add a half teaspoon of this stuff to a giant glass of seltzer to make Sprite. Yeah Sprite, except you also added a half a cup of sugar to the Sprite because you want your fillings to melt. I bet if you left this stuff out side you would be surrounded by every picninc buzzing flying insect and three different colonies of ants in a matter or seconds. OK, so I think you got the picture. I am half way through the cup. I am about to throw up. Remember you have to do this on an empty stomach, because it’s not trying enough. Pregnancy related testing is all about torment. I can just picture a bunch of sadistic men (it’s gotta be the creation of men, women wouldn’t do this to each other) in white lab coats who are pissed off at their wives sitting around a table conspiring how they can make these tests borderline unbearable. “you really wanna make her sick, let’s add enough glucose to take out a bull, that’ll teach her to yell at me for leaving towels on the floor…HMMMMWWAHHAHAHAHAHHA!” Because labor isn’t enough. They consort and plot to make us pay. But I digress (don’t I always?) After much gagging, belching and eye rolling I finished it. I let the front know the time and the long dragged out three hour wait began. Since I had gone through this before with my son, I knew what to expect. I had packed a few magazines (because how many parenting and so you are expecting magazines are you going to read in one sitting…?) and a book. The problem was since I was so fatigued do to lack of caffeine and nourishment I could not keep my eyes open. Falling asleep wasn’t an option because I had nowhere to lean my head. Besides every time I got somewhat comfortable my unborn child, who was at the moment doing a very fast fetal jig due to the injection of sugar fuel, was knocking the wind out of me every few minutes or so. I was left to fidget in the chair thumbing through fashion magazines I had brought but was not really looking at. I don’t know what I was thinking with the choice of magazines. Who wants to look at a bunch of borderline anorexic sun-kissed bikini wearing midriff bearing babes when your shifting your fat uncomfortable onion white rear in an oversized chair trying to find a cheek that doesn’t aggravate a hemmroid? Who’s being sadistic now? So now I am thumbing through magazines for menopause, which at this point does not look so bad. Each hour they call me in to draw blood. To add insult to injury my veins apparently suck. When I say suck, I mean drawing blood from a stone is easier then drawing it from my veins. By the time the three hours is up, I am bruised all over the insides of my arms. I resemble a heroin addict except there is no way you can mistake me for one because I am too rotund. I cannot wait to get out of there. Finally it’s over. I’m sure I will be hearing from them in a few days to tell me to come in because I have been diagnosed with GD. I’m expecting it so I’m not overly stressed. I leave, schlep to the car and lo and behold. Giant parking ticket. #$%*! Fine. The meter was broken when I parked, now it’s not. I’m going home. I am STARVING and need coffee so I do not care about the parking ticket. I am questioning my sanity when I made the decision to get pregnant again. I am totally fed up with everything, the physical limitations, the fatigue, the heat, the largeness, the hunger, the soon to be diagnosed inability to eat most foods. Why the hell am I doing this? Again? Then I open the door. Standing there, wearing only a diaper and the most giant grin on his face, is the reason. With an even larger “HI!” he greets me. Runs around in a circle in glee for a few minutes because mommy’s home. I’m dying from the cuteness. God I love him. :)

I really just wanted to make a nice happy post today. I don’t want to be all dark, gloom and doom, please kill me now every single time I post. As I type this I am dodging legos. Why not take them away you ask? If I do, he will find something else to throw. Unless I sit in a bare room with nothing but walls and a floor, he will find SOMETHING to throw. The lego is the lesser evil. I need to know when children grasp the concept of listening? When do these carefree little devious creatures learn, that whacking mommy in her pregnant belly with the Phonics Bus is NOT acceptable? At what point does it stick, short of Mommy tying them up. I try to.google the question, but he won’t let me type. So far today, I have had a bottle of water poured on my laptop. It has also been repeatedly smashed with hands and objects. Twice resulting with banishment to the crib with little fanfare. I am tired and stressed. The Braxton-Hicks have arrived and I would kill for a glass of wine. Why am I in here dealing with this you ask?. It wasn’t supposed to go this way today. I had different plans. This, like many other days was derailed by things beyond my control. We had our Mommy and Me Music class today. That went nicely. He was very tired at the end. Then I figured he’d come home, eat lunch and then go down for a long solid midday nap. And that went as planned. Then I figured maybe at two – three o’clock we would go for a walk or maybe to a couple of stores, so he could expend some frenetic energy. Everything went accordingly, right up to the solid midday nap. Then Mother Nature decided she was going take the oxygen, replace it with humidity and cap it with a severe band of thunderstorms making any attempt at venturing outdoors, virtually impossible. Hunter woke up from his nap with enough fuel to end gasoline price gouging for good. The rain has been pouring and the thunder has been booming and I have nowhere to run. As I type this, my pants have been thrown in the toilet. I found him dancing in a milk puddle in his room. He knocked a key off my laptop. He hit a dog and then chased it under the couch while I chased him reprimanding and resounding NO! at the top of my lungs. He has shredded a found paper towel into a number of pieces of which my dogs have promptly attempted to eat (musta been from the garbage) I have been tantrumed at and pulled into whatever direction he feels I must go in. No purpose to the direction, just for the mere act of dragging me there. He must look out the window. But it is not good unless I am WATCHING him look out the window. I leave he blows a gasket. No I don’t stand there, but the consequences are ear splitting. And no matter how many times I reprimand him, or put him in his crib, or tell him no, softly, sternly, loudly or vein poppingly, he just laughs in my face. Seriously. Laughs. Hysterical. In my face. He is as defiant as a moody seventeen year old and thoughts of ‘The Omen’ flash before me. I know he’s bored. I know he’s a kid with a big life force trapped in a small apartment but I feel as beaten down and trodden upon as a crushed empty coffee cup underfoot the marching bands and floats of the Macy’s thanksgiving parade. I am awaiting the husband’s arrival. I need to decompress. If I do not get at least a half hour to myself soon, I will surely self destruct. Husband will come home to a pile of hair and flip flops. The rest of my being combusted to vapor. I go to call husband to plead for speedy return to his family. Weird busy signal. OK, try his cell. Weird busy signal. Alright, I’ll IM him. Disconnected? Try email, no dice, doesn’t work either. Omigod. I am officially cut off from the entire universe. I cannot even call someone to commiserate. Not my mother, not another mother of a toddler. At this junction I would have vented to the 411 operator. I could speak to no one. I am left here to my own device. I decided to make an entry here to kill the time and attempt to somewhat ignore the frenzy that is erupting around me. But now I can’t even post because, due to the stupid weather, my whole connection to the outside world is down!!!! ARRGHHHHHHHH!!! Noggin’ is about to end and I’ve nothing else to tame the menace that is my locked-up-in-the-house son. Moose A. Moose just finished his Goodbye for the Day song. Sigh…. *holds breath* He is banging on the radiator grill now. At least he is in one spot. Good Lord, where is my husband? The only thing I had left was to take my mind to my happy place. I zombied out for a short period of time and just sat staring. And then I heard the door unlock. Hunter bolted to the door. Daddy’s home! Husband took one look at the apartment and one look at me and sent me to my room. I went and just laid down for a bit. I decided to take a long luxurious shower, complete with shaving, conditioning and moisturizing (because showering has somehow turned into a luxury…) I walk back out to inform husband and sitting quietly next to him is my son. Playing all nicey nice with Daddy. All calm and sweet as sugar. Fitting the wooden block shapes into the matching slots. He’s not getting nailed with blocks? Hunter is just sitting there all nice? What the hell is wrong with me? (I find myself asking the above question at least five or six times a day) My son hates me and I’m going to hell. I go into the shower absolutely grief-stricken. I can not for the life of me understand the whole Jekyl and Hyde thing that Hunter displays with the Daddy and me. And why am I getting the shaft. Why do I get the Hyde? Yeah, yeah, I know terrible two’s, yadda yadda, husband’s not home as much so the better side always shows when he’s around. I know. But you still can’t help but obsess to death over it. You can’t help thinking ‘but I feed him and wipe his bum and kiss his boo boo’s, he’s supposed to like ME better, why isn’t he all sugar and spice to me?!’ Even though you know the child loves you both. So you just had “a day”, it’s over now. I cry in the shower a bit and wonder what I’m supposed to do with two of these creatures…at one time. I decide I am stressed enough and do not need to further restrict my breathing with imaginary double teaming scenarios. I dry myself off, do those little after shower things I don’t always get to do. I come out into quiet. I do not recognize it because it has become a foreign concept to me. I go in the living room and there is not a lego or block to be seen. And come to think of it, there’s no child either. He’s in bed, already fast asleep. Husband has done me a giant favor. And I thank him and thank a gazillion more times in my head. I am lucky. I know. Tommorow we are going to Toys R Us first thing in the morning. We will buy new more advanced toys, in hopes it will occupy his little brain for more then three minutes. *Footnote: This occured Friday. But since it’s been raining most of the weekend, it has taken me three days to post. Little mitts pulling on your pant leg and smashing your keyboard compounded with whining does not make for good blogging. Lesson learned: Always, I cannot stress the word ALWAYS enough, have an emergency rainy day stuck in the house plan/kit on hand.

I find that losing things becomes an everyday, few times a day occurrence as you progress in your pregnancy. But the thing I seem to miss the most is my mind. I knew about this “temporary” loss of judgment, logic and memory. I’ve read the books. All my mommy friends warned me. But I was dumbstruck by how much I would lose to the point of borderline spastic. And since I had done this all before, I was thoroughly prepared for the stupidity that would become me, but combined with the mothering of a toddler; the pregnancy dumb fairy didn’t just wave her wand. She had whacked me over the head with the Stupid Stick and gave me a concussion. Once upon a time I was an intelligent individual. Able to form sentences from complete and fully formed thoughts. Articulate and well spoken. Now,...well, not so much. In my mind it will go something like this: The measurable effects of relativity are based on gamma. Gamma depends only on the speed of a particle and is always larger than 1. By definition: [img]http://www.macchianera.net/images/relativity.jpg[/img] c is the speed of light v is the speed of the object in question And then this is how it comes out of my mouth: DUH DUH DUH POOP DUH NIGHT-NIGHT DUH *walks into door* It seems that when you incorporate wee ones into your household, your ability to handle simple tasks such as keeping track of what you are doing while you are actually doing it completely vanishes. Like I am in a room and suddenly I am standing there blankly wondering what the hell I am doing there or was I even doing anything in the first place? Or I completely forget I’m doing one particular thing and just start completely doing something else, abandoning entirely what I was doing in the first place. Like the time I found myself plugging in the vacuum cleaner with a half prepared bottle in my hand and a dog leash (with dog attached) wrapped around my wrist. Or the time I found myself starting to put a diaper in the dishwasher (thank God I caught myself doing that one, can’t imagine what the consequences of that might have been had it been in there long, or worse had I ran it) Just last night I went to make scrambled eggs for Hunter (one of the few things he will actually eat…) when I had to relieve my relentless bladder. This led to me picking up some scattered toe damaging blocks, and then somehow I wound up in my own room cursing my husband’s inability to put away loose change, picking up nickels. Then I smelled something. I ran to the kitchen. The pan was smoking. I had managed to burn PAM. Who burns PAM.? And even then I wasn’t sure why I had the pan on the stove in the first place. There wasn't even an egg in it. Fortunately I haven’t forgotten my son anywhere. I am so terrified of this happening, that since his birth, I have checked to make sure he was in the car countless times before I put the car in drive. You check once and you should be ready to go. Not me. It is necessary that I check at least five times. I could forget that I’m checking in the middle of checking. So even visual confirmation isn’t good enough for me. Then I will drive off, and I will still glance in the rear view mirror another five or six times. That’s how bad it gets for me. I have the intellectual capacity of a tree trunk and cannot trust my own eyes. I’m not sure why this happens to us women. My theory is your mind just wants you to overlook the whole uncomfortable experience (should you find it uncomfortable and hideous, there are those reprehensible creatures out there who “enjoy” being pregnant. To that I respond BITE ME, but that is a whole other post…) in order to coax us into doing all over again. You know, like how you are supposed to forget the pain of childbirth (trust me I did NOT forget that either, again, another post…) a pro-creational survival continuance of the species mechanism. Like we don’t have enough physical hurdles to jump during the whole thing. The mental hurdles are the cruel sour icing on the expectant cake. But after you’ve tasted (and decided you could do without) the cake comes the present So you didn’t like the baking process and the cake left a sour taste in your mouth, you still get a present. And we all know that the present is always the best part of the pregnancy party. That is one thing you never forget.

Remember when you first read those results on the little stick. The little dance of joy you did, especially if it was the first time around. And how ecstatic you were. You pictured in your mind how cute you would look with the little belly. Maybe even stuffing a small pillow under your shirt, thinking, oh how cute I will look. Then you read everything you could get your hands on. Talked to other mother’s and listened to all of their horror fat stories and you pushed it aside. You raised your eyebrows (in your mind of course…) when you heard mothers discussing, so matter of factly, the things that they ate and, what at the time you regarded as a ridiculous amount of weight gained. Because of course this wasn’t going to happen to you. You were not going to gain a half of person. You would eat healthy, you would exercise. You bought the DVD’s. You were going to be the exemplary pregnant mom that everyone was going to admire and aspire to. Life wasn’t going to change, and you didn’t even put your pre pregnancy clothes away. Because you would be back into them about 6 to 8 weeks after the birth of the child anyway… Now there are a select few of you who actually met this standard. To those few, my hat’s off to your freak accomplishment. However I should note that the Stepford Preggo’s (and I use this term affectionately with the utmost respect and love…) should probably stop reading here. I am the antithesis of all that is sweet lullabies, flowers and rattles as far as pregnancy goes. As a matter of fact, you probably shouldn’t read anything I’ve written, in the past, in the future, or ever. The sooner you let go of this pre-pregnancy size in six weeks fantasy, the less likely you are to entertain stabbing your husband in the eye with a nasal aspirator every time he so much as looks at you, let alone touches you after you given birth. The sooner you forego this illusion, the more at peace you will be with yourself and you will also have an excuse to spend some ridiculous amount of money to update your wardrobe. When I say update, I mean buy something that you can actually tug passed your thighs without using such fitting tactics as butter, lying down and/or a hanger. There are many reasons why we may gain this excessive weight. In my case it was all started by the The Old School thought camp of ‘eating for two’. The Old Schoolers like to shove massive quantities of lipid based foods down your throat. If you are anything like me, you feel guilty turning it down (this is an Italian coping mechanism that is instilled at an early age – “the teacher yelled at you when it was Marcy that was talking?, here have a canoli”..). I was surrounded by them at work. They went out of their way to get something for you to eat without you even asking. It was purely out of concern for you and your unborn child, who according to the old timers has the appetite of two grown men. That is the only thing I can assume since I am only five feet tall on a good day and before I got pregnant the first time I weighed about 105 pounds. Otherwise, what would make you deduce that I would be inclined to or even physically capable of eating a 12 inch meatball parmigana hero…by myself? I mean what am I incubating here? A rhino? Then after that I would be subjected to tubs of ice cream with absurd flavor names such as Chocolate Caramel Ribbon Cheesecake. “Oh c’mooon, the baaaaabyyyy…” Sigh, Fine, I’ll eat the ice cream (well it’s not like they had to twist my arm that hard, but the guilt factor trumped any nutritional logic that may have tried to prevail and with flavors like that, c’mon…), They would buy all this stuff for me, without me asking, so I ate it. Who am I to waste food? Or even worse how could I backslap someone for their thoughtfulness. And you know what?, I personally like to eat a good sandwich every now and then. And some cookies. And some ice cream. Throw an apple in there for fiber and vitamins. And maybe a chocolate bar. Of course every time I went to the Dr’s Office it went something like this: “You know, you gained six pounds in three weeks, that’s unacceptable and waaay too much...you keep this up and your jeopardizing the health of yourself and your child…You’re gaining entirely too much weight!” *in my mind* ‘You know what?...You’re a MAN, so shut the h*** up and talk to me when you have ovaries and a uterus with a 16 pound bowling ball in it that makes you pee every six minutes you thoughtless insensitive clod with a penis’ *what was really said in a wavering voice* “O.K.” *Leaves in tears and calls up husband hysterical crying, and the only thing he can decipher through my blubbering is ‘jerk’ and ‘cow’* Long story short I gained entirely much to weight for my little frame that first time. This time, I was a bit more careful. And it was easier to be careful because I just don’t have time to sit down and eat. Nor am I surrounded by a bunch of Old Schoolers shoving mozzarella and tomato sandwiches down my throat. Plus it doesn’t hurt to have a ‘energetic’ toddler to chase around the living room frantically for fifteen minutes screaming things like ‘omigod please give that to mommy” because he’s just ripped off his morning poop diaper. I’ve got nine weeks to go more or less. I’m only twelve pounds shy of the maximum density I achieved the last time. I am not eating a lot and making somewhat healthy choices, but my activity is diminishing due to the oven like hellish conditions of the New York summer (another heat wave is beginning). Sprinting across the park after my son so he does not attempt to piggy back the Doberman in the dog park is not exactly my ideal scenario for a hot summer afternoon. Especially lugging the extra 20 something pounds I’ve gained so far. There’s a good chance that I may hit the same ultimate high mark of 155 (*gasp* I hate seeing that in type). At least this time I know what to expect afterwards and may be a bit more successful physically and mentally at losing some of the baggage. However, I am under no pretense whatsoever that I will bounce back to my pre-pregnancy self in such a short time. And I will be a much happier person because of that acceptance. The timeline should go something like this: Six to eight weeks of newborn hell, no time to even think about what fits since you don’t really wear much else then stained t shirts and pj pants anyway. And then maybe another few weeks of "crap, nothing fits" and "I'm so ****** fat" Followed by large shopping spree to hide added poundage I gave up on losing. Then I should be good to go. :) I have accepted the fact that I may never be the same. That I may never don another skimpy crop top or bikini again. And that’s OK. Really. As long as you don’t tell me I look better with some meat on my bones.

This is going to be shorter then one of my usual rants. The boy will arise at any moment and I need to get this down ASAP… I know most of you may be wondering: where the heck have I been??? (‘Most of you’ most likely adds up to six people including my mom, so really like five people who read this on a regular basis) I have been in mourning. My laptop died. Died. Dead. Kaplooey. A hideous, grinding, bellish beeping sound I’ve never heard, crunching death. I got trapped in the apartment last week during the asphalt melting heat wave, with one needs a yard (see previous posts) toddler, a broken elevator and no food, not even chocolate. I was going to write about it, it was going to be funny. Well I assume funny, at the moment of occurence it was heart wrenching, and veins were throbbing around my temples, but in reality it was quite laughable really. That’s when tragedy struck. My laptop fan whirred its last breath and promptly went into a coma. Taking whatever cathartic thoughts I had penned (typed…sorry penned just sounds so much more authorish) into unconsciousness. I can’t believe how lost I am without it. I brought it to laptop hospital. They say it’s in critical condition and may need to be rehabilitated back at Dell. *falls down* I’ve no idea when and if it will recover. Currently any access I have to a computer at all is through my husband’s extreme double monitor, heat stroke provoking set up. I only have access to it when Hunter is sleeping during the day, which is almost never. Then in the evening, husband is toiling away on it. I don’t like to sit at his computer anyway, because I get yelled at for things like tiny insignificant smudges on the monitor that were most likely caused by a gnat landing on the screen, but of course since I was sitting here, my big giant fat pregnant sausage fingers are the culprit. Or I get reprimanded for saving something on the desktop for whatever geek techno reason he cares to give (blah blah blah corrupt blah blah jpg blah blah blah). When you spend most of your day asking someone ‘what color is this block?’ and begging that someone to eat their ‘ronies because he is starting to resemble a starving war refugee, a creative outlet is much needed. It could be anything really. I tried knitting, but I got as far a making a block of something that resembled a blanket for one of the frogs that goes in Hunter’s Phonics Bus(He plays with this thing a lot, so I seem to make reference to it constantly don’t I?). I love to draw, but that’s time consuming, plus, you can’t really sit down anywhere near a child with an instrument of destruction such as a charcoal stick. Your really asking for trouble there. I have lotsa’ crayola trimmed walls to back that up. Oh and forget paint altogether. Somehow, writing became my outlet. My son gets a virus and throws up on me for twenty four hours straight, I write about it. He handed me poop (ya’ll read that one…) I wrote about it. Right now (yes the prince of hyperness has arisen during this entry and is making it quite clear that he does not, by any means, approve of me sitting here while he’s on the other side of the child gate…) he’s chewing apple and spitting it out on the floor just so he can watch the dogs eat it…if I knew I had a lot of time to sit here, I’d write about it. It helps me put the stuff that seems so time stopping and horrific at moment into perspective. And helps me take a step back from the absurdity and triviality of it all. And mostly it helps me laugh at myself. I have to, I’m so new at being a mom, that the inexperience and floating in the abyss of unknowingness of it all can be very daunting if not downright paralyzing if you take everything so, well…seriously. You need a hobby for sanity. You can zone out and forget about the madness that is your life at the moment And then laugh at the results. Or if you actually have kick a** results from the hobby, sell them and make some extra loot to hire a baby sitter so you can go and get a full body massage. Hmmm, sounds like I just came up with a new hobby. Maybe that’s what I’ll do till my laptop makes a full recovery.

I know, I know, it’s been so long that you all have already forgotten who I am, my son grew an inch and I gained five pounds. I am sooooo lost without my laptop. Everything from bill paying to email has come to a grinding halt and my creative outlet has been stifled altogether for longer then I can bear. Unfortunately my beloved laptop was hanging in intensive care for some time. Then things looked good and they sent it home. It was in what appeared to be in good health for all of but one day, then it took a turn for the worse and suffered a major relapse (read: went kaput) and was rushed into emergency evaluation and surgery back at HP. Now they wanna charge me 850 to fix it. The dang laptop cost like 100 dollars more then that. So to HP I say the same thing as I say to the people on the street who cluck their tongues, or even more ballsy, comment on the pacifier in my two year old’s mouth…Bite Me!!! The only reason I am even here right now is, and I am floored by the prospect of me actually saying this, is the impending and looming season of pigskin that makes widows and orphans out of many across the country. I must thank Fantasy Football. Yes, folks, that’s right, don’t adjust your monitors, you read it right. I said it. Thank you Fantasy Football. I can just hear jaws dropping and coffee mugs crashing to the ground shattering as this is being read. I have access to the husband’s computer due to an afternoon Fantasy Football draft at a bar. And I am happy about this. Well at least for the next hour or two, because Hunter is asleep. So it is almost as if I am, dare I say it?... *looks over shoulder one more time to make sure no one is around* *shudders with quiet excitement* ALONE!!!!! WITH MY MIND!!! JUST ME AND MY RANDOM RAMBLING THOUGHTS!!! …and some cheesecake. I know not the essence or the meaning of the word anymore. So the prospect of it brings tears to my eyes and joy to my heart. The clincher is I am just about six weeks away from adding #2 to the mix. Alone will not be in the cards for, well…ever. I look forward to naptime and was wracked with despair when the two a day nap thing consolidated itself in to one shorter midday nap just recently. I could sit down and write. Or watch something. Maybe organize a closet (HA!!!...Yeah right, I just wanted to see that in type….) Now I am beginning to hear that there is a skill and mastery required to get two or more children to nap/sleep at the same time. ????!!! Haven’t I got enough on my plate? No one told me there were more skills to acquire with the second child. I thought the first one pretty much instilled the required skills for the second one, such as diapering in the dark and the ability to go right back to sleep after being awoken by screaming teething child looking for binky. Now I have to figure out more stuff? And what’s with the whole “oh wow, the second one is a whoooole new ballgame…just wait…” What the hell is that??? Why does everyone I know with more then one like to throw this at me? And why now? Why wait till I look like a child is going to drop between my knees at any moment?!!! Why doesn’t anyone warn you [i]BEFORE[/i] you take the trip to sibling land? You know why? I ‘ll tell you why (don't I always?), because they don’t want to go it alone, they want someone to nod their heads at knowingly when you walk into a party with peanut butter smeared on your pants leg and mascara on only one eye. They want to see someone like me all frazzled so they feel more together and superior. Well to them too I say Bite Me!!!! Gee do I sound bitter today? (ummm, when don’t I ?....) Can you tell I’m just about done with this whole gestational thing? I’m at the end. I have about five weeks left. Five…long…sleepless…can’t stop peeing…Jesus I’m leaking…weeks. I can’t bend and have resigned myself to the fact that I have to pick up things with my feet. I try to get my son to pick things up, but I can say “Hunter, can you please give mommy the remote” 62 times. It will be right there at his feet and he will hand me a block with a giant grin on his face. Then he will pick up the remote and run to bathroom to throw it in the toilet (this has really happened…) I almost think that if given the chance, he would throw the new baby in the toilet. I’m all over the place with this post aren’t I? I don’t know when I will get my laptop back. It so hard to get all of these random thoughts into one post. Holy fried motherboard batman, she’s losing it altogether. Dang. Hunter’s crying. He’s up. My alone time is over. Sigh. Godspeed my beloved laptop. Let's all pray for a quick (and free) recovery, shall we? Thanks :)

That James Taylor song came to mind as my husband and I conversed via IM over the fate of my beloved Laptop… *Just yesterday evening they let me know you were goooone… Seems the plans they made put an end to you.* (1:23:11 PM computer fixit guy: not fixable (1:24:23 PM) hubby: what did they say was wrong ? (1:25:07 PM) hubby: can you give me a number to call.. (1:25:12 PM) hubby: i want to curse them out.. (1:25:18 PM) hubby: its only a few months old (1:26:38 PM) computer fixit guy: customer spilled liquid in it That was the conversation between computer fix it guy and the husband. Then husband broke the news to me… (1:40:45 PM) Me: *falls down in crumpled heap of despair* (1:40:49 PM) Me: *wails* (1:40:57 PM) hubby: im sorry boo (1:41:02 PM) hubby: :( (1:41:07 PM) Me: "WHY GOD???!!!!! WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?" (1:41:09 PM) Hubby: we will get you a new one (1:41:32 PM) Me: *shakes fist at the heavens and at Juan Valdez* It is raining outside. The grey skies mimic the emptiness I feel. 1:42pm. We have been officially contacted by HP The unfortunate call has been made. Time of death: 1:42pm, eastern time. My laptop, may it rest in peace has been put out of its misery and gone to that great information superhighway in the sky. *Melody of Taps echoes in the background* They will send its remains back to me. I can retrieve most of the important stuff . But they found traces of coffee that had been spilled (see Juan Valdez reference…) causing it’s ultimate demise, therefore rendering what ever warranty coverage I had null and void. I am at a loss. But I must and will recover. My husband in his attempt to alleviate my grief and shut me up ("You know if I had some kind of outlet I wouldn’t be screaming so much about towels on the floor...") has ordered a new one. I should be receiving it in a few days. Sleep peacefully my angel. May the Holy Motherboard be with you always. I’ll be back people, by next week. With a vengeance. Lots to say and just about 3 weeks to cram it all in. Then after that well, who knows where the post partum roller coaster and the adjustment to two children phase will take me. You have been warned. I hope you will read on anyway. :)

I am trying to get ready for this new wee one. Of course I knew it would be different. And I am blown away by the different set of expectations and prep work that comes with the second addition. Which pretty much amounts to none. I remember with my son, wow, I was like a mad can't get enough done woman. What? Only 40 weeks to get ready for such a monumental milestone?!!! This is a baby for God Sakes, not a party, a life. There were things to be bought, painted and put together! I was registered by week 12. I was just cleared of the first trimester miscarriage zone and BAM, I was in Babies R Us with the gun, zapping anything and everything in my path. And damned be those who got in my way. I would have registered for the sales consultant to have at home for future purchases if possible. I read every imaginable baby magazine, surfed every site. I soaked up more pregnancy information then a dried sponge thrown in a pool. I couldn’t get enough of the pictures of the fetus’s showing me what my little booger looked like every single week, minute, second. I needed to know what was going to happen, when and why. I can honestly say I've seen every Baby Story at least three times for the year 2004. There was no pregnancy related show on any channel that I had not seen at least twice. This time not so much. I’m giving birth in a few weeks… This time I pretty much physically forgot I was pregnant till my belly really started getting in the way. Like when I go to tweeze my eyebrows in the bathroom and then realize I can’t because the enormous protrusion prevents me from getting too close to the mirror because the sink is in the way and now I have this giant wet spot and toothpaste from the sink on my belly in addition to the catepillar running across my forehead. Or when I finally reached the stage where I use my feet to pick up just about whatever it is on the floor. As long as it's toe graspable. Otherwise it stays there till the husband gets home (asking Hunter to get it for Mommy is like trying to squeeze breastmilk out of your pinky, besides the requested object would probably end up in the toilet...) Me and the husband finally decided last weekend that we should probably get the basinette out of storage and put it together, lest we want this wee one to start out his/her first couple of weeks in a drawer. We weren't even sure where we put it. I'm still missing a piece to it from the bottom. You would put folded blankets or whatever in this part. First child, this would have sent me into a hysterical I suck as a mother frenzy. This time I’m still not even sure where I’m going to [i]put[/i] the clothes. I had Hunter’s furniture in place, his clothes washed, folded and neatly organized in categories in each drawer (the organization thing is another one of those wishful thinking aspects that are violently and abruptly squashed during week 3 of childs life…) weeks before he was due to be born. As I speak, I have whatever clothes I have managed to find in two plastic garbage bags waiting to be washed. I actually even contemplated via sniff tests whether I even needed to *gasp* wash them at all. *Please exhale slowly every one. I elected to wash everything, I just passed it off to my mother...* I just took out all of Hunter’s newborn stuff. I didn’t know whether he was a boy or a girl either. So I can use all of it, but I sorting it all anyway. I started marveling over each garment. The tininess of the onesies and widdle feets on the sleep snuggies. And I glanced over to the bin to observe the previous wearer of these garments rabidly pulling all of the neatly folded with care clothes out of the bin and tossing them about in a happy frenzy. Part of me wanted to scream at him but another part of me overruled the common sense to stop him and just sat back and watched. I can’t believe how much he’s grown in two years. My son was no longer a baby. He is a little boy. And suddenly I felt a pang of sadness. This would probably be the last time I would unpack newborn apparel and equipment (my eggs are getting up there and the amnio and worrying thing is just not my bag, really don’t feel like dealing with it again…). The last time I would hold a child in one arm without losing circulation. The last time I would sniff a freshly washed tiny pink head and take in that knee weakening scent. No more first smiles, no more first steps. Momentarily my eyes watered with nostalgia. Then Hunter started spitting in the bin of clothes. The pang left even quicker then it arrived. Perhaps not forgotten, but gone nonetheless. Right now chasing around crazed haven’t napped overdrive tiny hyper feet while lugging around a giant gestating fetus does not bring about warm fuzzy feelings. I know someday I will miss all of this and I will long for the days of newborn 3am cries and tornado sticky fingered toddlers. Till then I will try to remind myself that with the nutty chaotic flow of days comes the hugs and the requests for boo-boo kisses. Even if it means I will spend the next few years wiping stinky butts and scraping crusted mashed potatoes off the walls thus putting the inventor of the Mr. Clean magic eraser’s children and grand children through Ivy League Schools.

Alright, no one talks about it. And I refuse to believe that I am the only pregnant woman on the planet that has these, um...to put it daintily...leaking issues. Your not sure where I'm going with this? Well be warned because if you can't take discussion of bodily functions then this post is not for you. Stop reading here.Then again if you can't deal with gross bodily functions and the discussion of, then being pregnant must really be a test of survival and endurance for you. The incapacitated bladder factor Bladder leakage. Peeing yourself. There, I said it. That's right people, my poor squished bladder is having difficulty in doing it's job properly. Not only am I having to go every twenty minutes or so, but to add insult to injury, I am running around with the constant threat of involuntary leakage accompanied by the paralyzing fear of smelling like pee. Which I am pretty sure I do. Powder can only soak up so much. And I really can't bring myself to buy the 'Depends' things. I suffer enough indiginities buying items such as these in the drugstore, I try to keep it down to two embarrassing items per purchase thank you. I can almost picture the current occupant of my uterus using my bladder like the trampolines in the backyard that you often see on America's Funniest Home Video's and I can see the look of shock on his/her face when it suddenly collapses under him/her. Except there are no physical injuries or embarassment suffered by the incubatee,... it's me, my underwear and dignity that suffers the consequences. I am almost looking forward to the catheter that will be inserted for my c-section. I am looking forward to not having to get out of bed for like 48 straight hours and mostly I'm looking forward to not having to sit on a toilet. My rear is heavy enough now, that when I do plop on it in the middle of the night, the sudden force of my bulging rump causes the seat to violently shift to the right. So what my husband hears three to five times a night is the following: *schelp schlep schlep* (sound of dragging slippers on floor to bathroom) *BA-DOONK* (sound of seat shifting) *toungue-click - loud annoyed jesus am I that fat sigh* The amount of trips to the loo is so substantial that one of the hinges is dangerously close to snapping and I will be able to say the my pregnant posterior got so large that it busted the toilet seat. I can just picture it, the seat snapping off and me and my lard a** geting wedged in the bowl. Sirens wailing as the authorities would have to be called and the jaws of life brought in to assist in freeing the grandiose gluteus. And you'd think that would be degrading to the self esteem enough, but noooooo, the gestational gods really wana to sock it to you hard. I sit there and wait for the function to proceed and then cease. What felt like a gallon to be released has turned into two teaspoons. And I could easily physically spit two teaspoons out faster then this. Then I wait for the silence to let me know I am done. Fine, a few seconds go by. Silence.Wait just a second or two more for good measure. K, so I stand up and BAM. All of the sudden as if my bladder is like a bellows (ya' know that thing that people use to blow air on fire in a fire place) filled to capacity and the act of me standing is a signal for the kid to squeeze the bellows and omigod please kill me I have just ruined the fifth pair of pajama pants tonight and I am getting really tired of this. At this point I've almost given up on feeling fresh and dry...ever. Now is there a flip side to this? Usually I try to find one. Even if it's a little tiny flick of a flip. But yeaah, I'm gonna have to say no. There isn't. I'm mean really, what bright side could there possibly be to smelling incontinent? The only thing I can think of is that this may be applied to the ammunition cache to be used later on in life to instill a guilt trip if necessary. Just a few more weeks, I tell myself, just a few more weeks.

If there is anything on this planet that one woman can do for another that would fill her up with the utmost gratitude and thanks in the world (other then to God for the children you got, who in turn caused this need) it is to take your tornado toddler for the afternoon when you are nine months pregnant and about to burst into a puddle amniotic fluid. It has been raining here in New York for a few days now. That in itself strikes terror in my heart. Hunter NEEDS to be outside or completely occupied by something at any given moment. He does better when I can get him out. I haven't been able to really run him ragged lately myself due to my overblown uterus, but I've been trying to get people to do that for me. My dutiful, wonderful baby sitter comes in twice a week for a few hours to give Hunter the stimulation he needs. She takes him to the park, plays with him. Things that I don't always have time to do with him. And quite frankly lately, I can't even stand for longer then ten minutes without feeling like something large is putting 1.5 tons of pressure per square inch on my colon. This babysitter is wonderful with him and I'm thankful for that. She was here yesterday. What a Godsend, I thought to myself. It was pouring and thank the universe she was here. They were stuck inside but she played with him and he wore her out (it's amazing how this child can have this kind of effect on an individual, even in a small New York apartment...). Then today came and it was still raining. Alot. Non stop. What was I going to do with him today? In here? Now I know there is lots we can do, but please keep in mind that most activities that don't involve maiming the mommy (this would include activites such as block throwing, eye gouging and using mommy's belly as a trampoline...) call for complete and total physical alertness, for at any moment child can take off running towards a blank wall with a crayon or even worse, a marker, or perhaps trials were about to commence for the ever popular flush olympics. One must be prepared for such sudden developments and able to leap to action without hesiation in a milisecond's notice. Right now, Hunter could flush both the dogs and three pairs of his shoes down the toilet individually and I would still be only up on one knee yelling my head off. Suffice to say, I'm not really the ideal playmate/keep him alive candidate right now. So as I clutched my mug of coffee staring out the dismal rain speckled kitchen window, I braced myself for the battles to come for the rest of the day. I felt like General Custer. Then the phone rang. This saintly voice on the other end was a friend of mine, who had volunteered to take Hunter for a few hours once a week while I finished up the pregnancy. Now, you may be saying to yourself, yes nice gesture, lots of us have done that for friends and family, but how does this make her saintly? Well I'll tell you how. This white brilliant light of soul has 3 of her own, who all would be home at the suggested time of my son's visit. T-H-R-E-E One, two, three. Ranging from 7 years, to 1 year. Just as active as Hunter. Offering to take on my son. For a few hours! This is a selfless act with nothing behind it except the understanding and compassion for another mother because only another mom can really understand the enormity of freeing one of her comrades for an afternoon, asking nothing in return. Right this moment I am tempted to give her my car. I had an entire afternoon to myself and it was refreshing and rejuvenating. I even got to eat dinner with my husband without having to give a morsel to the same little molassased fingered grubber who usually insisted on consuming my fare after just spending twenty minutes hurling his at the fridge. My little nugget was returned to me, fed, bathed, pajamaed up, exhausted and ready for "night-night". I am still reeling. I may give her my car [i]and[/i] a luxury spa vacation in New Mexico. I also take with me the full intent to pay this forward. Someday, someone close to me will benefit from this. I am often touched by the kindness and generosity of my family and friends. The understanding and ability to navigate my insanity and venting. I hope they know that. I can't thank them enough. I only have one car and there aren't enough spas.

Apartment Living and a Toddler. Two words that probably were not meant to exist in one sentence. However the fact of the matter is many of us, as much as we'd like the nice big backyard and roomy house for the offspring to play in and be as rambunctious as they want without offending anyone but perhaps the dog, we can't necessarily have that for a number of reasons. Financial. Location, whatever. You may desperately want it, but well, it just isn't in reach at the moment. I often lament about the lack of space and disparity between my son's energy level and the size and room of my apartment. There are the pluses of apartment living. Like neighbors in close proximity willing to help you and most of them adoring your child and giving you a smile when they otherwise wouldn't. Hunter can make the grouchiest of them smile. And we've been making due without incident. Until today. Now if you've been following anything here, you know that my stories usually go in the direction of destruction, mayhem and maybe a bodily function or two combined to provide the usual madcap adventure and laughter to all those reading. However this time the direction is a little off track of my usual demented sarcastic twisted light view on things. Today I need to vent... The day started out on a wonderful note. Another wonderful thoughtful friend took the boy this morning for a playdate. She picked him up at ten and brought him home at twelve, tired and fed. He went down for a nap about a half hour later and did not awake till about three. So he was pretty much excercised and out of my hair and here for most of the day. Suffice to say he was rearing to go when he awoke. I gave him a snack, something to drink and we played on the couch. He then when into Full Force Hyper Hunter Mode. Runnng back and forth, jumping for no reason except out of the sheer joy and thrill of it. He throws things, but hey what child doesn't. I certainly don't let him run amok and it's not like I let him throw vases. I was having fun with him because I wasn't worn down and out by his usual antics. I won't lie, noise is made here. But I don't enforce any kind of quiet rule during what I like to call my "business hours". He's an exhuberant little being and I will not stifle that unless the situation calls for it. Besides, I pay as much as the next person to live here. The noise usually stops around dinner time between five and six the latest. Maybe a short burst of energy when Daddy gets home. He is in his crib by 7-7:30. Besides, he's two. Enough said. Now at about five pm or so, I hear an unexpected knock on my door. I am still in my pj's. It's that kind of day. I'm just tired of being pregnant and my physical abilities are diminishing day by day to almost zero. I'm days away (literally) from birthing this baby, so my patience is so thin, that it is almost transparent if not altogether non existant. I look out the peephole and I don't recognize the face, she introduces herself and identifies herself as the new neighbor downstairs. She proceeds to complain about the level of noise coming from my apartment. "There is a lot of noise coming from here alot of the time" she says. I'm looking at her blankly because well, frankly my mommy hackles are now raised and my mind is racing with different scenario's on how to respond and handle this without the police being involved. I responded, "Well I'm terribly sorry but I have an active two year old who has a lot of energy." I meant this the first time I said it. I do understand. I spent all of my twenties living alone and being pissed if the person upstairs made too much noise. Although I've NEVER gone upstairs. You have to be aware that this kind of thing comes with apartment living. She repeated it back to me dripping with either disgust or disbelief, I'm still having trouble deciding which it was: "Oh, you have a two year old" Is she kidding me? I mean what is she expecting, I tether him in his crib when her need arises? She commented on the noise level again. I responded with the the same exact sentence, "I'm sorry he's two" which turned out to be the only sentence I could utter during this entire conversation, because if I didn't say that, there were going to be expletives involved and my son was wrapped around my leg observing this exchange. My mommy hackles were now bristling Then she comments on the 'thiness' of the ceilings and how everything carries. Then repeats herself (AGAIN) about the amount of noise. I just kept saying, 'I'm sorry but he's two." Then, THEN, she throws in how she came home from work early with a fever and there is just so much noise. In my head it went like this: LISTEN LADY!, obviously you either never had a child or have completely forgotten what it's like to have a two year old and I am so pregnant that I can go into labor right here, right now and you'll have to deliver it. Obviously you are not THAT SICK, if you can show up at my door made up complete with lipstick, hair done and dressed while i stand here in front of you with a giant trembling non stop moving stomach, one slipper on and still in my pajamas at 5pm not even sure if I brushed my teeth today, so if you think I'm going to have pity on you, you might as well talk to my door because I am about to slam it in your face. What was said: I'M SORRY BUT HE'S TWO! One more time, the same thing about the noise level. I stated I would try to keep it down, but I couldn't really promise that because I was nine months pregnant, (I glanced at my belly for the dramatic effect) and that he was TWO. Then she kept repeating about how she thought this would be the nice way to do it. To come up and tell me herself. I'm sorry, as opposed to what? So now I think she's threatening me indirectly. She will either go to the board or call management. If that gauntlet gets thrown in the ring, then I will just have to wear platform boots year round and walk/skip with a cement heavy gait. Co-op living sucks and I cannot wait to be done with it. People can be very not nice. Whatever. Oh and I will buy Hunter tap shoes. Moral of the story: Never complain to a 39 week pregnant woman about her toddlers noise level. [b]EVER[/b]

Alright, so I'm less then 24 hours away from giving birth. I am scheduled for a c-section. I apparently have a tendency to give birth to large headed olympic sized atheletes without the pelvis to match. Here's me last week: [img]http://methodic.org/temp/bella.jpg[/img] Holy Swallowed the Dog Batman! And to think, I am nowhere near as large as I was with my son. Oh yes and the giant red mark on my belly is due to my inability to compensate for extra girth during the ironing of son's clothes. Yes folks, I managed to iron my stomach. I've become a menace to myself. Hunter was the pioneer that never quite discovered let alone made it through my birth canal. He was so stuck that they even had alot of trouble getting him out during the c-section. They wound up having to knock me out entirely. So there will be no attempt at the regular way. That's fine with me. The sooner the better and I don't have anything to prove to myself or anyone else for that matter. If you are a natural birth zealot, read no further;) No lamenting about not being able to birth naturally here. I'm one of those women who will avoid pain at all costs. And if that mean an epidural and some anesthesia, then so be it. Heck I'll even sleep through it if you give me the option. At any rate, as of tommorow I will be the mother of two instead of one. A new baby. A tiny life. A helpless infant. Ask me how ready I am for this. No really, go ahead, ask me. You figure I had ample time to prepare and I actually know this time kind of what to expect (I say 'kind of' because with motherhood experience we all know that rarely, almost never, does anything go according to plan). I am supposed to know what I should have out, clean, washed and ready and what can wait. You know what I have ready? The swing is put together. And the bassinet is set up in my room. Hunter has piled up all of his matchbox cars in the swing. I don't even know where the bassinet sheets are. And in the bassinet you will find several pairs of pajamas and a robe I bought for the hospital which I have not packed for yet by the way...) oh and the car seat is in the bassinet too. I have alot of Hunter's infant clothing ready. Ready as in washed and folded. By my mom. Which is still in the plastic shopping bag she returned them in. I am still not sure where the clothes are going to be kept. I have the bottles ready. They are still in the dishwasher though. They've actually been there for a couple of weeks now. (don't panic people, they're not festering with old milk/formula crust, they are clean...) Although I still have yet to purchase new nipples for the bottles. I'm sure you are asking yourself, 'well what the h*** has she been doing with all this time?' I ask myself the same question. Well, I've been keeping my son alive for starters. That's always a plus. As you all know, he's quite the handful and I only have a teaspoon of patience these days. He decided to walk out of his highchair today during lunch. Because gravity isn't an issue for a two year old. Oh and the remainder of my free time has been delegated to peeing. Well, it's all over real soon So as soon as I know what it is, I'll let you all know. I'm looking forward to meeting my new booger and am itching to hold him/her for the first time. Being this is the second time around I am more sure of myself, so it will be less tense and much more relaxed. An all around pleasant experiece. Well I'm hoping anyways. Oh and being able to sleep for the next three to four nights without any barking dogs, ADD channel changing husbands and pasta throwing toddlers won't hurt either. God Bless Painkillers and Sleeping Pills. Talk to ya'll soon!

Hi everyone. This is going to be my shortest post ever. I just got home. It's a girl. Shea Rhion Malloy. 9.29.06 6.15oz 19 3/4 inches. [img]http://realsavvymoms.com/momblogs/blog_photos/shae1.jpg[/img] [img]http://realsavvymoms.com/momblogs/blog_photos/shae2.jpg[/img] She is soooooo little. Which is a big surprise. When we really settle down here I'll be back. I have alot to share. Thank you so much for all the wonderful well wishes. I can't begin to tell you how much that means. :)

There's a million things that make a hospital stay easy. Having a good bedmate is one of them. The person who shares your room during your tenure so to speak makes or breaks it. If everything else sucks about your hospital stay, at the very least you can lament to your roommate. Who has just been through the same thing as you, and is suffering that same juggernaut hormonal surge and storm. And who can appreciate the humility of attempting a trip to the bathroom wearing the giant diaper they attempt to pass off as a sanitary napkin. Unfortunately you have no control over who shares this life altering experience and room with you. I think they should come up with some kind of matching system, you know, like a dating service. They should interiview you early on in the pregnancy and then put the file away, pulling a match for you when labor onsets. You know kinda like those dating.com match sites. With questions like: "Are you judgemental towards non breast feeders?" and "Do you think it's OK to answer a cellphone and have an hour long conversation at 3am?" Something like that. I wasn't lucky enough the first time around to have a good bedmate. I shared the room with a lady (and I use the term lightly) who was on mandatory bedrest for the remainder of her pregnancy. This was her first pregnancy so she had no infant experience or tolerance for that matter. I never actually saw her. She was the voice from beyond. She spent the entire time I was in the room shrouded behind the hospital curtain. The only reason I even knew she was there was because of the tongue clicking that would commence everytime my son would vehemently announce, as only hungry infants can, that he was starving. I probably would have responded under normal circumstances, but well, I was mega drugged for pain and throwing down in the hospital just wasn't the maternal thing to do. The Birthing Godesses smiled upon me this time. I had a very cool roomate. She was just like me. We both just had our second child on the same day and our firstborns were pretty much the same age. We both had dogs that our children taunted and fed scraps. The chaos that we each thought was ours and our alone was shared by the other. This became apparent to my "neighbor" (that's what we called eachother) when Hunter came to visit his sister for the very first time. The visit was an excercise in futility and a test of insanity. The child was not interested in his mother who had just orchestrated his dethroning and he was certainly not interested in the tiny pink thing that was the root of the dethroning. We spent most of the visit saying things like "Hunter GET OFF the windowsill !!!" and "Kicking mommy in her stitches is NOT acceptable!" (note to self: never put toddler in bed with self shortly after surgery...) But I think the bond was really solidified the night I like to call "Sunday Skeletal Staff Hell" (I will expound on that and the big difference a great nurse and a crappy one makes next post) When my requests via call button went unheeded and the nurses on duty made me feel like I was undeserving of even still being in bed let alone waited on, it was my roommate who let me know it was ok to need help two days after having my insides rummaged about to pull out a screaming human from my gut. It was my neighbor who let me know that I didn't have to suffer silently without a painkiller (or three) It was she who asked if I was alright when things went crashing to the ground (this was usually something like the bedpan that was filled with toiletries, don't ask...) She made me feel better. And in turn I think the validation I recieved from her made my healing a bit nicer, perhaps a bit faster. I left with her contact information, and we've already emailed eachother. I hope we stay in touch. Besides a painless, routine, healthy birth, the one thing I wish for everyone is a roommate like her. The difference she made is immeasurable.

I gave birth to Shea over the weekend (on a Friday to be exact) It was also Yom Kippur so let's just say the halls weren't brimming with staff. I've come to the conclusion that should you ever have some kind of accident or surgery or something that requires medical attention, try to do it by Saturday. I know that this is a blanket statement and I am completely aware this doesn't apply to all hospitals. Just mine. Let me elaborate if I may... There are few greater assets to a hospital then a great nurse. I am very appreciative of nurses. It takes a very special person to dedicate their life to that profession. Heck, my mom has been one for over twenty years so I really understand what it takes (she made sure of that). Once again my cries and prayers (and flat out begging) to the Birthing God's did not go unheeded. They decided that since my first birth experience was pretty lame that they would bless me this time with one that was a bit more pleasant (I say a [i]bit[/i] more pleasant because let's face it, no matter how you slice it or push it or however you get it out, there is pain involved, and pain is not pleasant). During my recovery from the section I was lucky enough to have the most dynamic, helpful, understanding, knowledgable nurse. Why did I love her so much? This woman saw the worst of me. Warts, lochia and all. She did not flinch. She took me to the bathroom when the catheter came out. She heeded my call for painkillers and mylicon with the most heartfelt understanding. She never once made me feel as if I was undeserving of any of the care she was giving or of my requests and always came back to check on me and make sure I was feeling as comfortable as possible. She calmed my nonsensical rantings about my daughter and her well being (omigod her poop is black! Omigod, are her intestines dead?! why is her poop black?!- Meconium, hello!) but she never made me feel stupid or like she was doing me some kind of huge favor. She was compassionate and caring. And most of all she loved doing what she did. You could just tell. That makes all the difference She was there all week. Then the weekend came. And the neighbor and I were left to the mercy of Cruella. (all names of people and places have been changed to protect the innocent and to prevent getting sued by the guilty...) Actually I can think of twenty or so names to call her, but the majority of them would require bleeping them out. Anyway. Case and point - Sunday night. I am thirsty, perpetually thirsty. I don't know if it was the painkillers, or the fact that I was suffering hormonal hot flashes like I was in full fledged menopause. Now I had a nurse call button but it wasn't working properly. If one of us buzzed, then they would call on the intercom and ask what we wanted. The speaker was above your bed. It was loud. Deaf hearing aid loud. But they couldn't hear us well. It would go something like this... Them: *LOUD* - This is the Nurses Station can I help you? Me: regular voice - Ummm, can I get an extra sanitary napkin please... Them - *LOUD* - This is the Nurses Station did somebody press the buzzer? Me: *embarrased but a bit louder voice* - Ummm, I need some sanitary napkins please, I'm out. Them: *REAL LOUD* - *Audible sigh* Hello? *audible breathing* Me: *Yelling* Yes, I need sanitary napkins in bed 2 please... Them: AS REAL LOUD AS POSSIBLE - You don't have anymore sanitary napkins? Me: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD A PAD, PLEASE A PAD PEOPLE! I'M HEMMORAGING HERE!!! So it's late, and the neighbor has her new babe in the room because she is breastfeeding. I don't want to wake the baby with the senseless intercom banter, besides I know it's going to go nowhere anyway. I decide to get out of bed and walk to the nurses station and request another pitcher of ice water and a painkiller. They say you should walk around anyway after surgery. So I pull myself out of bed. It took a good eight minutes to do so and all the physical effort I could muster. I hobbled to the nurses station, they were all talking and not really paying attention to me, so I stopped the nurse who was walking the hall. I asked her to please bring water to my room. She looked at me as if I just asked her to give me a one hour shiatsu massage. Perhaps I misread her look, I thought, and chalked it up to my fatigue and pain. I got back to my bed (neighbor thought I was insane to even be getting out of bed...) and waited for my water. My mouth was dry and my lips had the tight pulled feeling. And I waited. So I appologized to neighbor and buzzed the intercom. The nurses station and I had a conversation not unlike the one simulated above. I requested water and a painkiller. And I waited some more. I buzzed again. Now I was pissed. I once again requested water and a painkiller. Twenty minutes later the nurse from the hall who I kindly refer to as Cruella shows up. With my painkiller. But no water. So now I have a giant pill to ease my hurt but no way to swallow it. I look at her. In a voice that has obviously lost it's patience I inform her that it is difficult to take a horse pill without anything to wash it down. She looks back at me, makes an annoyed sigh and starts mumbling as she leaves the room. I am still not sure if I am going to get the water. I wait again. I buzz the nurses station again. Them: *LOUD* - This is the Nurses Station can I help you? Me: *LOUDER* - Yes, someone just brought me a painkiller but no water, I can NOT take a giant pill without water can someone PLEASE bring me some water!!??? A minute later Cruella comes back in shuffling begrudgingly with seven chips on her shoulder. I said to her "you brought me the painkiller, but I've no water to take it with, I've been asking for water for awhile now..." She picks up my pitcher and starts eyeing some cups on my bed table. There was a bit of water in two. I was sipping these conservatively because I was out of water. She then says to me: "Well this is why you don't have any water. You keep wasting it. You shouldn't waste it, then you would have enough." ! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Neighbor's chin hit the floor in awe I am stunned into silence (for a second anyway) To this I responded: NO! I do not have any water because I keep DRINKING it! I [i]drink[/i] the water because I am [i]thirsty[/i]! Very thirsty! You know hydration? So you don't dehydrate? As a medical professional you are supposed to know about the whole dehydration water thirst drink thing! That is what you do when you are thirsty, you DRINK WATER!!! Now can you [i]please[/i] bring me some water?!!! She hurries out of the room with my pitcher. Now me and neighbor are betting breakfast crossaints on whether or not she will actually return. About fifteen minutes later she returns with the pitcher filled with water. Then she leaves in a huff mumbling under her breath. I still get my hospital gown in a bunch when I think about it. Me and neighbor swore up and down for a half hour that we were going to report her. We forgot about it when the crossaints came. Besides, Angel nurse was back that morning and Cruella was just a bad memory. To all the Cruella's out there. If you really hate waiting on the sick and laid up, then find a new profession. To all the Angel Nurses out there, never for one minute think you are not appreciated. You make more of a difference then you will ever know. My Angel nurse ruled. She made the recovery experience so nice that I contemplated briefly (very very briefly, like a fleeting milimicrosecond briefly) having a third. I'm over that though. Way over that.

I am soooo tired. My children are both napping. Odds are this will be a short because someone will wake during this attempted post. I have a newfound respect for anyone who has more then one child at home and are doing it all by themselves. Because I gotta tell you. It is sooooooo not going smoothly. I tried one day last week to take the both of them in the double stroller to the store. That was my plan for the day. I started to get everyone ready including myself during my coffee at 9am. Hunter threw a tantrum at 9:15am and woke up Shea. Calming startled Shea cost about a half hour. 10:00am time for Shea's bottle - she then proceeded to scream till about 10:45. I managed to put her down and get dressed in clothes I could actually set foot outside wearing (she screamed like I was beating her with a brick - oh yeah did I mention she's kinda colic?...) while I contemplated jumping out the window and then chased Hunter around attempting to get pants and socks to stay on him It is now a bit after 11:00am, I have Shea in one hand and am trying to put my sneakers on - she promptly throws up on me. Now I have to find another shirt. I'm now chasing Hunter in my bra It is 12:30pm. time for Hunter to eat lunch. I would buy lunch for him while we are out on the Avenue but I'm not sure Shea would sit through it (did I mention she's colic?...) I make him lunch. Shea is still screaming. I am of course holding her the whole time. Hunter throws whatever he hasn't eaten at the dogs. Since I really can't bend over to pick it up because of screaming child #2 in my arms (remember the colic? I did mentioned it right? - what? you find the fact that I keep mentioning it annoying? well imagine the constant screaming in my ear and when there is not screaming, the ringing in my ears from the screaming...) I resign the fallen food to the dogs, heck let them mop it up with their toungues. I can't bend over with this tiny loud human attached to the crook of my left arm anyway It is now 1:00pm, time for Shea's next bottle. I give her the bottle and plug up her little beautiful bow shaped lips. She sucks it dry in minutes and promptly passes out on my shoulder during attempted burp. This is bad. She will throw up on me and scream if I don't get her to burp. Nor will I be able to lay her down on her back. At all. She will throw up and scream. Hunter is in overdrive and is exhausted. But I really just want to go to the store. It is up the block. Literally. And I am still trying to go. I have to go anyway because I need to buy formula. It is now 2:00pm. Hunter needs to nap and is letting me know by throwing matchbox cars across the living room, you know because yawning or laying down on the floor quietly would be much too cryptic. Hunter's shirt is covered with his lunch, actually he is just covered in his lunch. It is dry and crusting. I don't care. No one will see it under his jacket anyway. I manage to get his coat on. I put shea in the car seat in the double stroller. She does not like this (she doesn't like much of anything really...) and let's me know that. Too bad. We are going to the store if it kills me. I have not been out in days. I have brushed my teeth and dammit we are going out. So I push the stroller with both kids into the hall. Both kids are yelling. Loud. In the echoey building hall. So it is amplified exponentially for all to hear. Well at least they'll understand when they see me, why I have dark circles under my eyes resembling those that the football players paint on their faces and why I am sporting a stained shirt (formula) with the matching stained sweats (again the formula) no make up and greasy fly away hair pushed back by a headband. And I don't even care that I look this way. I have brushed my teeth, that will suffice. This whole hall scenario takes close to an hour because Hunter keeps kicking off his shoes and neighboors keep coming out to see what the commotion is and then come over to see the new baby and of course offer all kinds of advice as to how I'm supposed to stop her crying and how I can keep her quiet. Like I needed someone to point out to me that they are loud and if I made some kind of attempt at it, they might actually quiet down. I get out at 3:30pm. I am not sure where the day went. I am tired. We finally get out and get to the store. They are out of formula. *falls down and cries* Well there's always tommorow. If I haven't ran away to Tahiti before then. Except I will start the process (getting to the store is now a process, who'd a thunk it?...) during one of Shea's 3am feedings and maybe I'll get there by noon.

Just a short post to give a peek into the insanity that is my home... Tonight my mom rang my door bell from downstairs. This caused my son to sprint to the door and attempt to open it. Shea was screaming in my arm (shocker) and dogs were barking. The door is usually locked since Hunter likes to sprint into the hall any chance he gets. This time it wasn't. Hunter had his pantless little butt out in the hall in less time then the blink of an eye. I grabbed him by the back of his diaper with my free hand otherwise he would have surely ran down to the lobby (or fell down...) causing some overly concerned neighbor to call children's services. The yank of the diaper caused some hard a little poop ball to fall out of his diaper (I was unaware of his poopage). As I started yelling at everyone (the kid, my dogs and my mom) things like "Look out! Stay where you are! Oh Lord don't touch that! Where's a paper towel?! Lysol dammit I need some Lysol stat!!!"...my dog promptly ate it. It never ends people, I guess it never ends...

I am so tired. Odds are if you are a mommy and you've come to this site, you are too. I knew the adding a second one to the mix was going to be a challenge. I knew I was going to be drained. Physically and emotionally. I knew I was going to be bone tired. I did not expect the desire to reject sleep in exchange for just a tiny bit of alone time. I had an idea that I was never going to be alone ever again. I was told time and time again by friends how having two turned your household and life into a freak show (parents of two love to indulge in the devious pleasure of scaring the bejesus out of parents of impending two...) I gave this prediction credence. I knew my son took up the majority of my time as it stood. However I was unaware I was about to give birth to a handcuff. Eerily simulating house arrest, we lovingly refer to my daughter as the "ankle bracelet" Now please understand, I love my daughter with the very core my soul and heart. Besides, she has currently chained herself to it. I cannot put this child down. I attribute some of this to reflux. But not all of it. I believe she is a social catepillar. Who some day will transform into a magnificent outgoing butterfly. But untill she sprouts those wonderful wings to help her navigate the world. I must tote her around in the crook of my arm. Like a clutch bag. That yells and poops. Oh and don't think I can just take her any old place. She directs me where to go. With her coos, yells, chortles and cries. Baby sonar if you will. If I make a wrong turn I will be scolded. By a seven week old. So when late night comes and my arm is dead. And the little burr finally goes in for her long stretch for the evening. Hunter has been down for some time And husband has retired for the evening. I bound into the living room with glee, remote in hand, maybe some Haggen Daaz in the other. If I am going to be tired I might as well be happy even if it means being fat. It's only been seven weeks, so I can still invoke the baby weight clause. My eyes hang heavy with fatigue and my back aching beyond tolerance. I should really go to bed. But my alone time beckons to me like George Clooney and Patrick Dempsey in a racy dream. Even they couldn't get me to give up this hour alone. Seriously. OK well maybe they could, but really what are the odds of that happening. No crying, no spit up, no "Mommy Noggin? Noggin?", no toy toe stubbing. Just me (and maybe a dog or two...) I can recharge my senses and intelligence. Maybe read or make a blog post without tiny fingers destroying keys (my G is missing, that story my friends, is another post...) I unwind as I fantasize about when I am able sleep for an eight hour stretch. Because time without them gives me a chance to remind myself how lucky and blessed I am. To remind myself that this will not always be. To remind me that someday this time spent on the couch in the late evening will be because I am waiting for them to get home. To make sure that they are safe. I'm sure I'll be wishing they were handcuffed to me then. Then I crawl into bed as I kick myself about the hour or two I could have been sleeping. I am awoken by the cries of starving Shea. And as I shuffle into the kitchen, with the ankle bracelet, all bleary eyed to heat up Shea's formula, I will melt in her presence as she greets me and with coaxing gives me her gummy smile. I will appreciate it even more then I do now. I will further melt into a puddle when Hunter yells a great big Hiiiiiii!!!!!! from his crib as only toddlers can. I guess sometimes you need the quiet to remember how much you love the noise.

First off if there are any spelling errors or grammar issues, forgive me. Let me explain... I haven't been here for eons. You wanna know why? The demon spawn, King of the Terrible Twos, Titan of Terror that is my son. Ripped 10 keys off my keyboard. TEN! Right off my new laptop. Because the 4000 lego's on the floor and the blaring Backyardigan's could not deflect or distract the Toddler Tornadoe from the sheer excitement derived from mutilating something of mommy's. The G being missing is one thing. But ten awol letters is very bad. It's not that I need to see the keys. They just don't work. And sometimes I get the I, O and P a bit confused. I need to glance at it sometimes. It is now a giant ordeal to type anything at all. I have to retype and delete over and over. So all these keys are missing and I'm typing from a keyboard that is plugged in to the laptop. How freakin' stupid is that? This is very annoying. Because if I prop it on top of the real keyboard and exert a bit to much "vigor" while typing (you know, like if I'm tellling a I'm pissed off at my husbands crumpled up paper towels on the floor story or my thanksgiving commute from hell story...), it presses the keys below and causes a giant mess of gibberish to appear. I also can only have the computer on the kitchen counter. At all times. If I don't, things like this will happen. And my son will run to my laptop like he does now, point feverishly and yell: "broken mommy, broken" And he will smile while he is telling me this. And I will laugh at the absurdity. Lessons learned: Nothing of Mommy's is sacred. If it can be broken, it will. Oh and if it can't be broken, child will defy laws of physics and break it anyway.

This is gonna be a long one... It's been [i]waaaaay[/i] to long. I haven't been here in eons. Long enough to know that I've most likely been forgotten here on the mommy blogging circuit. But you will understand. You will empathize. And you will be damned glad you aren't me. I'm not sure where I left off but since I was last here it went pretty much went like this: Colicky newborn. Wished to rip my own ears and beat myself on the head with them daily Energetic two year old who likes to jump, throw food and rip keys off of laptops. . Was attempting to sell home I was living in and find a new home. Because the colicky newborn wasn't enough and I felt the sadistic need to torture my self further by handling this on my own. Multi-tasking and men do not mesh. To the spouse, multi-tasking is brushing his teeth and going to work therefore I was blessed with the 'menial' task. Because the screaming infant, the hyper toddler and the two yappy dogs, the cleaning, the cooking, the feeding, sprinkled with the rare occasion for a shower were not fufulling enough. I needed to add the martini inducing act of purchasing a home. Oh I also handled the closing. The coordinating of both the closings. The lawyers. The banking. The fees. The forms. The loan. He did handle the moving dates. After all he had to know when to take off from work. Anyone who has gone through this knows that having a decayed tooth pulled out with a rusty plier is less painful then buying and selling a home. OK, so we get through all of it. Barely but we get through it. Shea's still screaming. Hunter's still bouncing off walls. But he can bounce off the yard now, and no one can complain about Shea screaming all the time. It was a warm winter. It was 70 degrees like the week before we moved. We moved in. 9 degrees and snow. First night we were there. And it was artic north pole freezing for like a whole month. So Hunter was trapped in the house anyway with me and Screamy Shea. Fine. First week we unpack. Then Shea suddenly comes down with a fever. 104.5. It lasts four days. She developed an ear infection and is put on antibiotics. Fine. She gets better in a week. I go on a play date. Was happy to get out. Two days later Hunter comes down with a violent stomach virus. Threw up on everyone and everything, even the dogs. It last four days. Fine. He's better. Five days later I get it. And two days after that the husband gets it. Fine. Shea decides that sleeping during the night doesn't suit her. And will get up and cry. For a long time. This lasts another week. And there went the whole month of February. We moved in Jan 26th. I am now using boxes as a coffee table and I am going into corners and crying during nap time. Wait, no it gets better. We get hit with [b]ANOTHER[/b] stomach virus. ?????? What the ****? What's with all the vomit already? Is it not enough that I don't get to shower, that I need to be thrown up on bi-monthly? Dogs want to roll in my clothes and chase me down the street. Now I'm getting pissed. OK. It runs the family gamut and we get through that too. So now it's March and everyone is healthy and I'm starting to get a leg up on the boxes over running my living room. I am getting a bit wary from sucking in my breath every time Hunter jumps off one of them. A few days into my attempt at organizing I come down with what I believe to be another stomach virus. Since we have so much experience at this point I figure hell, I'll just work through it. I'm vomiting. (save it people, I'm not knocked up again...) But this is bad. Severe pain in my gut. I take Peptol Bismol. Anti fart medicine. No help. I can't stand up. I think it's gas. Nothing is helping. Maybe I ate something. I figured it would run it's course. I couldn't sleep that night the pain was so intense everytime I moved. It got to the point where I couldn't take care of my kids. This was worse then labor (seriously, I kid you not and nor would I dare joke about labor pain....) Everyone kept telling me I should go to the dr. (everyone being my mom and husband) I really didn't want to because usually they tell me I'm depressed and send me home with some Prozac. But it was so paralyzing that I bit the bullet and called a cab. Since we were new in the neighborhood, there was no one to watch the kids, but the husband. So I went to the ER by myself for about eight which seemed more like eighty hours. The pain was so bad that they actually gave me morphine. That was nice. Turns out my appendix was gangrenous and about to rupture. I needed to have emergency surgery. So I enjoyed the morphine while I was there, again and I cannot stress enough how nice that was. :) I go home and two days later my dear husband leaves for a business trip. *ok everyone slowly close the jaw, I know, I know, I wore the same incredulous expression for like a week* So I am left home alone. Four days after major surgery with Screamy Shea who must be held at all times and Hogwild Hunter. For five days. Oh and I had to walk the dogs too. please note: this will be used for future purposes and jewlery This takes up March. April rolls around and because I am a glutton for punishment I decide that it would be a good time to have the family over for Easter *hits self in head with mallot* My first holiday. Ever. Enough said. So here we are now. After weeks of relentless reminding, i finally got husband to replace my keyboard. I hope to be a regular again here. I [i]need[/i] to be here. If I do not vent this frustration in a creative way I will surely break the china cabinet and my husbands stupid giant flat screen tv with a bumbo seat (those things rule by the way, the bumbo seat not the tv...) No I am nowhere near finished unpacking. I am projecting early 2008 for complete settlement.

Happy Belated Mother's Day. I had all intentions of being light and simple as I usually do. Telling the story about my son's obssesion with his sister's "pockabook" Or my never ending quest for a crumb free kitchen floor. Actually, I have a few incidents to relate. But I decided I have a meatier bone to pick... Stay-at-home-Mom vs. the Working Mom. Alright, now please, let's not start typing angry responses before we read what I'm thinking. I don't usually air my opinions on such touchy subjects. I'm not a very black and white person. Life should be so simple but it simply is not. Grey is my shade of choice. A bit more realistic. I am not taking a side I don't pass judgement. Seriously I don't. If I have learned anything during my years on this earth it is that I cannot judge a person till I walk in their shoes. Or have been on boths sides of the fence. And usually I am teetering right in the middle if not on the edge of that fence. And I've hopped on both sides and fell down on both many-a-time. Whether the jump was deliberate or I just fell. I am not you. You are not me. And I seriously (and I swear on my children, seriously...) respect either decision. Why am I going here you ask? Well, here's one statement (or backhanded compliment, however you want to look at it...) that has provoked this tirade. Picture it. Mother's Day Get Together. *Husband chasing toddler running amok and eight month old screaming and grabbing/shoving/throwing everything on table as I hold her on my lap in restaraunt all while I'm trying to shove just one forkful of salad down my throat for ten minutes and just never got to eat it* Me: sigh Working Mom: 'Is this what goes on in your house all day?' Me: 'yeah, kind of' Working Mom: "[i]That's[/i] why I go to work" What I thought: And you had kids because?.... What I said: *shrugs* Second scenario: Another commented that I was the reason there would be no guilt going back to work after the second kid was born My immediate reaction: And you are having another one because?... Again in real life I said nothing. Do I think these people shouldn't have had kids? Of course I don't think that. I love both these people dearly and I do not believe they realized the offense of their comments. But as I confident as I am in myself, I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel as if I was being looked down upon. All mother's love their children with a lionistic passion that only another mother can understand. I don't believe any one mom loves their children more then the next mom. But please remember your decision is a personal one. And please don't use mine as a justification for yours. Please don't tell me you wouldn't know what to do with yourself and that you would slit your wrists if you had to watch Blue's Clues all day. Or that you don't want your mind to turn into a toxic quagmire of slop because it would if you had nothing to do but change diapers and plan play dates. This is insulting enough (God knows I bust my ginormous rear for at LEAST 16 hours a day and haven't slept a straight night in about sixteen months, and nobody has that many diapers to change, even if their kid had explosive malaria induced diarrhea so [i]clearly[/i] I'm doing something else besides changing diapers...) but the fact that you think that's all there is, is almost demeaning. And if I didn't have my own sense of self, it would be. I may be close to a breakdown quite regularly if not too damned often. (Lord knows I holler about it enough here oh and wait till I tell you the 5am toothpaste jewlery box raid story...) But if given the choice all over again, I would be here, home with them. Hands down, no exceptions. (except I would have read more books on colic...) Do I think you should make the same decision I did? No I don't. You are not me. I've learned these last three years If you try hard enough, there's a world beyond diapers and playdates.. You just have to find it and then to keep it in sight. That's not an easy thing but mother's everywhere pull it off. Ultimately it doesn't matter what mommy road you decide to go down. Either way, you will see your offspring to the end of that road just fine. You will just make different pitstops. So my message to both camps: Stop thinking your way is the better way. It's not, it's just a way. *steps off of soapbox* We now return to your regulary scheduled programming....

This is my first blog. I have never blogged before. I didn't know blog was a real word. So here I am blogging for the first time. I must admit I am a little nervous. So here it goes. SPLASH!!!! ( that is me jumping in the blog waters ) Well I have been a Mom for ten years now. I have two beautiful daughters. My oldest daughter is 10, her name is Heaven. My youngest daughter is 2&1/2, her name is Winter. Were not hippies we just like what they bring to the table when it comes to names. I was a single Mom for almost 5 years with my first daughter. I was 20 years old, living with my boyfriend in Orlando, going to school, and not using protection. Do the math. 9 months later, a baby. I felt like a baby having a baby. To make a long story short. I left school, I left my boyfriend, and I moved to Atlanta to be close to family. I waited tables, nannied, worked in daycare, any and all odd jobs. We were poor but happy and I never regret being there for Heaven. I was raised by a single Mom (parents divorced when I was 4) and I really wanted to be there more for my little girl. I sometimes wish I could have finished school, however I am not dead yet. I have just hit the pause button on school. This blogging stuff is good therapy I highly recommend it. Anyway's more about me. Eventually after a lot of prayer and stand up comedy I met my husband. Stand up comedy really helped me have an outlet through some really tough times. Laughter is the best medicine. Now I have been married for five years. It has it's challenges but I am married to my best friend. So we laugh alot through the crazies of life. I remember thinking when I was pregnant with my second daughter how much easier it was going to be now that I was married and had a husband to help me. Yes in some ways true, however child rearing is hard whether you have husband or not. But I definately recommend the husband. Now I stay home with my kids. I went through this depression last year were I wanted to get a job out of the house. You want to hear something really sad. Starbucks wouldn't hire me. I went several times and spoke directly to management. They still wouldn't hire me. I stalked the Starbucks for a job. I finally gave up. I remember thinking I am 30 years old and Starbucks won't hire me. I cried. There is no real point to this story I just thought I might share some pain. However now I stay home and enjoy the busyness that my family brings. I hope you have enjoyed getting to know me a little. Next time I can just start blogging I won't go through my life story every time I blog. Although I may need to talk some more about the Starbucks situation. That still stings alot.

Well this has been a crazy week. It always takes me like a week to get back into a routine after vacation. We were in Florida last week and the kids got spoiled by their Grandparents. Better enjoy that third helping of ice cream now little missy, because when we get home it's nothing but greens and grains. So this is the week before school starts for Heaven. She will be in fifth grade this year. Oh my, these school supplies list. I've already spent 50 bucks and I'm still only half way done. Last year we actually had to take out a second mortgage just to pay for school supplies. But seriously, I mean, do you find that they start putting things on the list that are not even school supplies? Like Zip Lock baggies? Since when do Zip Lock baggies ensure a higher education? Then all the soap and tissues I feel like I am stocking the janitor's closet. Ohhh I am complaining now. However this is just the beginning. Sally Foster and all the other fund raising that goes on through out the school year. Which you have to give to or you feel like the worst Mom ever. The guilt of a Mother is never satisfied. I feel guilty now for just writing about it. Oh well tomorrow we will be making a mad dash to get last minute supplies and grocery items. I have decided to make my daughter's lunches again. Pray for me because this usually proves to become a challenge by day three. However with all the hormones in the school chicken I just can't stand to let my daughter eat it. So I think I will pick up a six pack of Lunchables for her. Totally kidding. We are off for our new adventure into fifth grade. WOOOHOOO!!! Now I just can't wait until after Labor Day. Then I get to put Winter into Mother's Morning Out. Yea I will get two day's a week. A total of 6 hours a week, all for MOMMA. Oh yeah! All for MOMMA!

Hello greetings from the downstairs basement . I have ten minutes to throw some thoughts on this page and then I must start dinner. I have a P.T.A meeting tonight. I usually show up, pay my five dollar P.T.A. fee, listen to some boring announcements, and leave. During the announcements I act interested on the outside but on the inside I am thinking things like “what's on t.v. tonight?”,and “hmmm did anyone just hear my stomach growl?” During the announcements I say things like mmmmhhhh or yep uuhhhuhh uuhuuhh and an occasional Amen just to make people think I am really paying attention. Seriously though, I am grateful for the hardwork of the P.T.A. It is good to be educated about whats going on at my daughter's school. Maybe if they could just have like a clown read the announcements it wouldn't be so boring. Boy I love clowns.

I have been very emotional this week. My sister is about to have her second baby. I am so excited for her! However it makes me miss our mom. Our mom passed away from cancer four years ago. It's times like these I wish she were still here. No one can ever prepare you for losing someone you love. Even though time goes by your never quite the same. My mom was an amazing woman, who I appreciate more and more the older I get. Well, on a lighter note, Heaven survived her first week of fifth grade. I missed her around the house. She helps me so much with Winter. God I love my kids. Do you ever get going and going and then your like hey when was the last time I had a break from the kids? Oh maybe the fact that my eye is twitching and I can't complete a sentence because I am so used to being interrupted ever time I talk. Yep I think I need a break. You know what I like to do to get it all out. I put on the Flashdance theme song “What a Feeling”,and I dance around the house like I am in the last scene of the movie... That or sex. Well I am tired and heading to the bed. Goodnight from blogging world.

I am tired. What mom is not tired? I have different levels of tiredness. 1)regular tired 2)tired 3)really tired 4)extremely tired 5)exhausted 6)extremely exhausted 7)everyone leave me alone or I might hurt somebody tired. Today I am at level 1. Just regular tired. However that number tends to rise later in the day. But for now I am doing pretty well. What is scary? Is when you wake up and your at level 7. That is not good. Usually that only happens during that time of the month.... Which honestly those two things combined can be downright dangerous. Well Winny still has two more weeks until she goes to her mother's morning out program. Winny got so spoiled over the summer having Heaven around. So far this week she is getting much better about playing to herself. I believe kids are happier when they can entertain themselves. I know Momma is happier. This is usually my nap time. So I believe I might try and rest for a while. Because if I don't I have actually been known to go from a level 1 to a level 7 all because I missed nap time. Pretty sad but true.

Have you ever stepped in dog poop? That is a horrible feeling. Well today I didn't step in dog poop I stepped in my two year olds poop. However much like dog poop you never realize your stepping in poop at the time or you wouldn't be stepping in it. My potty trained two year old often drips poop all over the bathroom floor. I usually notice right away, but somehow today I just stepped in it and didn't realize it. So thirty minutes later I am typing on the computer and I am like boy something smells like dog poop. Just in case you didn't know this childs poop and dog poop smell the same when there on the bottom of your shoe. So I look down and sure enough, on my shoe and bottom of my jeans is precious poopy. I might be angry if it were dog poop but since it came from the fruit of my loins I thought it was funny.

Have you seen these shopping carts/cars for kids? I love these things. You can get your shopping done and the kids can pretend like they are driving. Although living in a big city like Atlanta, I think some of these kids have picked up some bad driving habits from watching their parents. Like last week I got rear ended on aisle 2. This kid came out of nowhere, he wasn't even paying attention and boom, he smacked right into my cart. I was so upset. We began to exchange information until the officer arrived. I told the cop, listen first off, the kid was talking on his cell phone. Secondly, I don't even think he can see over the wheel. And lastly, I wasn't going to mention this but I did notice an empty sippy cup on the floor board. Needless to say they took the kid on several charges. DUI and resisting arrest, just to name a few. When they tried to arrest him he took of running and shouting. Fortunately aisle 2 is also the candy aisle so once he made eye contact with some Butterfinger's he stopped. That's when they got him. Poor kid, I feel really sorry for him. In all seriousness I love these shopping carts/toy cars and there is really nothing cuter than watching my two year old behind the wheel.

My husband and kids left this morning to go to Kentucky without me. This is my first time away from both husband and kids. I stayed here to help my sister in case she has her baby this weekend. Fingers crossed. My friend is coming over soon to hang out today. I just want to stay busy and get some things done. I really don't know what to do with myself. You know I walk around saying Oh God I need a break. I think God heard me. My prayer is that I will enjoy this time. Enjoy some Momma time. Are there any mom's who can relate to how I feel?

How's it going ladies? I had a great weekend without hubby and kids. You may see me soon on Mom's Gone Wild Video. It was so nice to have time to do what I wanted to do. I enjoyed the time I had hanging out with my friends and the time I had just being by myself. Although late at night I admit I was scared. I just watched t.v. and let the Magic Bullet infomercial put me to sleep. I love that commercial. I had a great day today I got to spend it with my sister while she was having contractions. We walked to Zaxby's and got some spicy chicken wings. Everyone was looking at her like she was going to pop. Frankly, I was a little concerned myself. She was having some real powerful contractions and I kept thinking things like, what will I do if her water breaks in this place? Or what if the baby starts crowning while we are eating are zesty fries? What would you honestly do in a situation like that? We had are kids with us in their strollers, so it would have been quite a sight if my what if thinking had come true. However my sister has still not had her baby. If you pray, please pray that she will have a vaginal delivery. She had a c- section with her first and really wants to have her second naturally. She is almost two weeks over due. If she hasn't had the baby by Thursday she will have a c-section. She has been having contractions all day. However she is still only one centimeter. Please pray tonight things will open up so that she can have this baby the way she wants to. This has been quite an exciting day. I must go to bed now however, I don't feel that tired. Maybe if I am lucky I can catch a Magic Bullet commercial. You know how that Magic Bullet put me to sleep.You know how it do.(this is me talking in my wanna be ghetto accent)

You know what is fun? Jazzercise( and also watching people fall down)! I started taking classes last week. Even though I have the Yoga Booty Ballet dvd series(I like saying Yoga Booty Ballet, it sounds like classy French),it is hard for me to get motivated in my home. Sound familiar. Today was my third class. I must say I am getting better. I nailed the kick ball change/jog to the front/jazz hands move. So I guess you can say things are getting pretty serious(say it like Kip from Napoleon Dynamite). However it is now 4 hours after my work out this morning and I am ready for bed. This is the first time that I have worked out since high school. So let's see. 31-17=14. 14 years ago I worked out consistently. Wow no wonder I am so exhausted. Now that I have done the math I am gonna go lay down.

Well my sister finally had her baby. He was 10lbs. 14 and 1/2oz. She didn't give birth to a baby, she gave birth to a toddler. He came out of the womb potty trained and eating solids. When he was born my sister wanted to nurse him right away. The nurses replied that kid doesn't need to nurse he needs a happy meal. We thought that was really funny. Until one of the nurses actually went out and got him a happy meal. He loved it ! Although he seemed to react a little to the cheese on the cheeseburger. We think he may be lactose intolerant. He is so cute and big. He had some complications at first with his breathing but is doing much better now. My sister ended up having another c section. However she labored for three days and I have never seen someone so determined. In the end a c section was the best route. I am so proud of her. I know it is not an easy thing to endure. Well as you can imagine we are all excited about the new baby. I am about to go over to my sister's house and see him again. It is getting close to dinner time so I am thinking about swinging by McDonalds for a happy meal. Don't worry this time I will get a hamburger meal.

I am tired it has been a long day. Today is my husbands birthday. So tonight being Monday night football he went out with some friends to watch the game. I am sure he is having a good time. We had a busy weekend. We had a marriage retreat with our church. It was great we got to go stay in a hotel Friday night and get away without kids. Got a lot on my mind but not much to say. I made my husband a chocolate cake for his birthday. It was a recipe that was made by his mom during his childhood. He enjoyed the cake so much. I have to admit it was the best cake I ever made. If any one needs a really good cake recipe let me know I have got a good one. The icing melts in your mouth.YUMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Well this has been a very busy week. I have been helping my sister out with her oldest son. She had another c- section with her new baby so she can't lift her old baby. So I go over when I can and lift him. I was thinking of maybe starting a new business where I go around lifting babies. I can just hang out at hospitals and offer my services to the women who have c-sections. Although they may try and take advantage of me and ask me to start lifting things other then babies. That is why I would make them sign a contract first. You really have to cover all your bases in a business like baby lifting. My sister has some reinforcements coming in town tonight. So I guess my baby lifting days have come to an end. Tomorrow is school picture day at Heaven's school. So she picked out, with the help of a friend, a cute little outfit. I remember how exciting picture day was in elementary school. It was definitely one the many highlights of my school year. I think by the end of middle school into high school I became too cool for pictures. Instead of the overly obnoxious smile of my elementary day's, which resembled something like that of Punky Brewster. My smile resembled something more along the lines of Nick Nolte's mug shot minus the hawaiian shirt. Well I must close with something adorable that Winny says. She has a pair of undies with Sleeping Beauty on them. However instead of calling them her Sleeping Beauty undies. She calls them her Yoga Booty undies. If you haven't heard of Yoga Booty Ballet, it is exercise dvd collection. Any way's I just can't take how cute it is when she calls them her Yoga Booty undies.

I have been really emotional lately and I was thinking oh I must be about to start my period. So I started calculating in my head and I have two more weeks before I start. So I am not P.M.S. ing I am just going crazy. That's comforting to know. Hey you know I have been eating a lot of processed chicken lately. I wonder if that may be contributing to my hormonal imbalance. I suppose I will go research that one when I am done blogging. Don't get me started on the hormonal chickens. We went bra shopping today for Heaven. We found a few cute bras with matching undies. When I was a kid I just got one really ugly bra in a generic package that said “My First Bra”. Now they have all these cute little prints and what not. However I did see one bra/panty. It had these two cute little monkey's kissing on them. A boy and girl monkey. I was like “ Oh heck no!!!! “ this stuff is for little girls. The last thing I want my daughter to think about when she is putting on her undergarments is kissing boys. Or even worse monkey boys. Winter of course had to get a bra as well. I surprisingly found a Disney princess bra/panty set for her. ADORABLE!!!! I however did not get any for myself. I'm doing just fine with my shredded white bra with coffee stains.

Well I have been doing a lot of of soul searching lately. My husband and I had a marriage retreat a few weeks ago with our church. It was a lot of fun but also challenging. I have learned it is hard for me to respect my husband sometimes or a lot of the time. We got some advice from a friend the other day to write out what makes us feel loved and respected in our marriage. So Sunday morning we woke up and began writing. We exchanged notes and read each others responses. Wow I can't believe how I come across a lot of times. I felt humbled by his response to the question. We have decided to continue to study each others answers so we can make sure we both feel loved and respected. It's kind of like that book Love Languages. How we each have our own way of feeling loved. I highly recommend this exercise for all couples. I think it really helps put a sober perspective on how we are doing in our marriage. Thank God for communication!

The daylight saving transition is upon me. It always takes me a couple of weeks to adjust. Like at night time, even though the clock says it is 6:00p.m. I really know it is used to be 7:00p.m. Although it feels like 9:00p.m. I am reading this book called The Makers Diet it is really interesting. The books talks about the diet God intended for us to have. It talks about how the Jewish people would stay healthy during certain plagues because of their diets and personal hygiene. My husband and I have actually started implementing the diet and lifestyle. It is really neat. I have been recommending it to all my friends and family. So now I am recommending to any one who reads this. Lot's of good stuff! My husband is going way for the weekend. So the girls and I will be by ourselves. I get a little overwhelmed thinking about it. However I was thinking today of all the things we can do to stay busy. I thought about getting some crafts for Christmas. I thought we can spend the weekend making Christmas gifts. Now I am actually looking forward to it. Heaven my oldest daughter loves the Lemony Snicket's, A Series of Unfortunate Events books. She has the entire book series and loves them. So last night I started reading the first book with her. We used to read all the time together, but as she has gotten older she has been reading more on her own. I realized last night how important it is to share that time together. We had such a fun time. I enjoyed the book so much after I left her room I kept reading. I am almost done so I think we can start book # 2 tonight. We'll see. Must go and fold some luscious laundry before Winny wakes up from her nap. Wow even though the clock says it's 2:00p.m. It feels like 4:00p.m. Even though I know last week at this time it used to be 3:00p.m.

I have been sick the last few day's. I might have pushed it with too much Jazzercise. I have spent the last few day's on the couch crying while watching the Hallmark channel. Little House on the Prairie and The Walton's get me every time. Pretty sad I know, but I have actually been enjoying myself. I have managed to get out of most of my daily responsibilities. I forgot how enjoyable being sick can be sometimes. However I am starting to feel better I don't know if I will let my family know. Maybe just one more day of hanging out with Laura Ingalls and watching Nelly Olsen get what she deserves. I love Little House on the Prairie. I grew up watching this show wishing I could live in Walnut Grove. Wow things were tough back then. I watched an episode today where Caroline Ingalls cut open an infectious wound because she was dying and no one was around to help her, not even Dr. Baker. Makes me grateful for the modern conveniences we have today. I honestly can't recall ever having that struggle. Anyways I have enjoyed just sitting back and living vicariously through these fictional characters. Well I must go now. Good night Elizabeth, goodnight Jim Bob, good night Grandma, good night Grandpa, good night John boy.................................

I finally put out my Halloween decorations today. I didn't have much. Just an out of control witch on the front door, a Halloween welcome mat, and few jack o' lanterns. When my oldest daughter came home from school she was upset that I had put out “all” the Halloween decorations without her. I will not make that mistake again. I may go to the Dollar Tree and pick out some more little things for the house and let her help me with that. I have a “Fall Party” at Winter's school this week. I have been going to a lot of different websites trying to find different games we could play. If any one has any fun game idea's please feel free to let me know. Thanks

Well I have a few minutes in between poopy diapers. I am watching my friends little boy who poops alot. He has already pooped twice since he has been here. He is so sweet and laid back. He would honestly be the perfect kid if he didn't poop so much. He eats an extremely healthy diet of fruits and veggies and some grains. He is a vegetarian. I was thinking about giving him a barbeque pork sandwhich to stop him up a little. Oh well I guess I should go and change some more poopy diapers.

Well my husband left to go out of town again. I wish I could say I was getting used to this but I am not. I love my husband very much and really miss him when he is gone. However I think that it is good for us to have time apart. It makes me appreciate having him around more. Instead of feeling annoyed with him and wanting him to cut his hair, tuck in his shirt, brush his teeth, shave his face, and take out the trash. I enjoy having him around. Although I really wish he would take out the trash more and replace the bag so the next time I throw something away it doesn't make a mess. Well I am trying to stay busy so I don't miss him too much. I may watch the Bachelor tonight with a little glass of wine. Sad, I know, but I can't help myself I just have to watch.

Well it has been a little while since I have blogged last. A lot has happened. Like I won the lottery, we moved to Hawaii, and I got the varicose vein on my right leg fixed. So you can see with all these fabulous adventures taking place I had no time to talk. The girls are doing well. Heaven is weeks away from entering middle school and Winter is a month away from attending preschool 4 day's a week. Freeedom is coming. Heaven is a little nervous and excited about middle school. We are going to meet her teacher's next week. Wow I am just blown away at how fast she is growing up. We have been having a fun Summer. Although I really wish I was not kidding in the first sentence about having the varicose vein removed, because I really do have a massive varicose vein on my right leg the size Texas. So I have two options when it comes to summer. Sweat it out in pants to hide my shame. Or wear shorts and try and not get stuck in the grocery store line with a cute guy behind me. All the time people are like,”Come on it can't be that bad?”and then I show them and then their like,”Ohh I'm sorry, have you considered surgery?” The normal person would say yes. But me I am always looking for natural ways of curing ailments. So I am currently drinking and wrapping my leg in apple cider vinegar. You can imagine I am scoring huge points with my preteen. She is so disgusted when I wrap my leg in vinegar. I can feel the look of disgust and it hurts. I got onto Winny last week for telling me I stink all day. But you know if the vinegar works it will have been worth walking around the house smelling tee tee. A quick funny story. Last week when I had my legged wrapped I went walking with my neighbor. Well she had a friend that joined us. About half way through our walk her friend was like “ Do you guys smell vinegar?” I quickly confessed and tried to act like it was no big deal, but I was a little embarrassed. Oh well I am happy to be writing again. I hope to get back in the swing. Just in case you were wondering I really didn't win the lottery or move to Hawaii but I did get to fly on Donald Trump's private jet and hang out with the reunited cast from Saved by the Bell.

We are counting the day's until school starts back. I met Heaven's teacher on Wednesday. She is very nice. Heaven is looking forward to sixth grade. It has been so hot in Atlanta all week. It is hard to even go outside for a few moments. I am looking forward to fall. Although Summer really is my favorite season. I guess growing up in Florida you really get used to the heat. So far this Summer we have gone to Kentucky and Florida. We have visited family and have had family visit. So tomorrow we are going to get away with just our own family. We were going to go camping, but it is way to HOT. So I have a gift certificate to a hotel downtown so I thought we could go there and go swimming and just be together. I was saving the certificate for a romantic weekend, but I thought it would be something nice to do with the kids. So the girls are excited. You know we really don't get to do a lot of traveling or vacationing outside of just visiting and staying with family. So this will be a little get away. All and all we are doing well. We are just trying to stay cool.

<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Commitment, what a powerful word.</p> <p align="center" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As a mother of two I have to be very careful about what I commit to. I struggle a lot with wanting to do everything but only having the time to do very little.</p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We live in a world that begs for our attention like a screaming child. Too often than not I have forsaken my kids to this pressure. I want to do it all but I can't.</p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After making a lot of bad commitments I have realized that commitment is a decision that should be heavily pondered.</p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Before I know it my girls will grow up. I want to enjoy them now.</p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So what if my house isn't as clean as I would like it to be. So what if I can't keep up with the other moms around me. Our my kids happy and doing well?</p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Shouldn't my greatest commitment outside of the one I have made with my God and my husband be the commitment to love my children.</p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I often feel like we live in a society that makes us feel guilty about ourselves. Either we don't have enough money, time, energy,etc... We are made to feel like we could always being doing more.</p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I want to be able to just be sometimes.</p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After feeling guilty about my lack of be committed to other things outside of my family. It hit me when I am ready to take on more commitments I will.</p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">However I have decided not to commit to anything that I absolutely don't feel great about. I know as my girls grow and don't need me as much I will gladly take on more but for now the only screaming child I want to pay attention to is my own.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p>

Hi to all you fellow Real Savvy Moms. By way of introduction, I am currently a stay-at-home mom to my delicious 13-month-old named Eliza. I'm not married though I'm currently living and sharing parenting responsibilities with Eliza's father, the mysterious C. However, this relationship is a little bit on the sour side so I expect to remain an UnWed Mama. I left a freelance career working behind the scenes in television to mother baby Eliza. Though I miss my co-workers and the fun of being on set, I have no desire to return to the 14 hour days (no exaggeration) of television production. I do hope to work, so I'm looking to jump start another career, a daunting task at the ripe age of 39. I'm not surprised that mothering an energetic, feisty, happy and gorgeous 13-month old is the most rewarding experience of my life to date. While I hope to have a career to buy myself some freedom from this toddler's father (and also give me a life when Eliza starts school), I really do savor this moment as a full-time UnWedMama. So please sit back, subscribe if you'd like and enjoy the ride. My life's full of drama so expect this ride to be a bumpy one.

If you live in the US, chances are you experienced some form of extreme weather this weekend. There were snowstorms and avalanches out west, heavy rains in some parts of the south and record high temperatures here in New York City. The mercury soared to 71 degrees on Saturday. Knowing the forecast in advance, I decided to take advantage of the spring-like weather on a jaunt to the local playground. First of all, my UnWed Mama status makes me as bit of a standout at the local playground on weekends. Oh sure, there are other solitary Moms but for the most part, the local playground looks like company picnic day. The children run back and forth between their parents who smile and hold out their arms like they're posing for family photographs. The record high temperature summoned what looked like every neighborhood family from the dark enclave of their apartments. I don't think I've seen the playground this busy even on the best days last spring and summer. I confess to feeling a bit lonely for adult companionship as I strolled Eliza into the park and saw the clusters of happy parents. But I knew I was there with my girl and I looked forward to enjoying the wonderful day with her. Unfortunately, the loneliness I felt became magnified when I freed Eliza from the stroller. Almost immediately, she ran up to the first kid she saw, a blond boy approximately four years old, who didn't notice her. She followed several other kids around, her face becoming increasingly droopier when she realized none of these children wanted to play with her. When a woman with a similarly-aged daughter noticed Eliza, I thought perhaps she'd encourage her child to play with my girl. Instead she didn't, barely mustered even a concilatory sentence to me. Throughout the afternoon, this pattern continued. Eliza would charge up to kids of various ages and the parents would tell their kids "be careful of the baby" and then ignore us. When one of the random kickballs became available, Eliza charged after the ball. Happily toddling with ball in hand, she promptly ran up to the first boy she saw and offered it to him. The boy snatched the ball and ran off. He was about four years old so I certainly didn't expect him to have any interest in playing with my daughter. But the sadness on her face was heartbreaking. What should have been a fun day at the park with my daughter turned into another episode of my wondering, as a single Mom am I dooming my child to a lifetime of loneliness? Would more parents be willing to speak to me and encourage their children to play with my daughter if I'd been hanging out in the park with, I don't know, say, a man? Finally, as we packed up to leave, a woman approached me with her daughter and struck up a conversation. Her daughter at seven months old, was still an arm baby. But she reached and squealed and seemed thoroughly enchanted by my daughter. "She's very social," the woman said. "She can't wait to run around." Eliza peered up at the baby and smiled. She offered the stick she held in her hand to the little girl. The little girl smiled and reached for it. "Maybe some other time," the woman said, gently deflecting the stick from her baby's mouth." "It's nice to meet you," I said. Then I introduced the woman to my daughter.

My beautiful daughter has been sick since December 6th. It's been off on an: she was puffy with snot, hot with a fever of 103 and generally miserable for three days. Then the fever broke leaving a week of runny nose and mild discomfort. The runny nose didn't go away after a week and just when I started to suspect this cold might never go away, her demeanor started to sour. I took her back to the doctor who diagnosed an ear infection. This was the Friday before Christmas weekend. I spent the evening picking up her prescription and laying with her on the fold-out futon while C and I watched old Audrey Hepburn movies. Her spirits brightened for our Christmas celebration but the runny nose continued. Halfway through the antibiotic, I called my ped who assured me if she seemed happy (she did) the antiobiotic was working on the infection but it wouldn't eliminate a runny nose. She theorized that Eliza may have picked up another cold and suggested I give her an over the counter decongestent to relieve any pressure on her ears. January 4th, a full month after the saga of the runny nose began, I took her back to the Ped for a flu booster shot and an ear check. The doctor looked in her ears, down her throat and listened to her lungs and told me my daughter looked great. Beaming, I left the office confident my month of sickness was finally behind me. But alas, Eliza woke up today with a wet cough and a runny nose. She often wakes up congested, especially when the heat goes back on because we live in an old building with a crappy, stuffy, mucus-inducing radiator system. She seemed to be her happy, peppy self and I served her breakfast then dressed her to take her to a friends while I served as a guest speaker at a local film school. Unfortunately, when I returned to my friends, I found my daughter still congested with a periodic, nasty sounding cough. My friend said she could feel the vibration in Eliza's chest when she held her. Feeling guilty that I may have exposed my friend's child to the newest ailment plaguing my daughter, I shuttled her home hoping she'd nap. She didn't. Her mood went from happy and active to crying miserably with fatigue? Illness? General boredom after a fun morning with a playmate? I'm going to sleep in the bedroom with her tonight just in case she needs me. As sick as she was last month, I realize it could have been a lot worse. I only hope whatever may or may not ail her now, doesn't test my Mama metal too much more. I'm feeling a little fragile and scared for my child right now.

I'm going on the record to say I've had better days. If you've been reading this blog, you know my daughter's been snotty in the literal not bratty sense, and yesterday the snot bloomed into a nasty sounding cough. Though she slept last night, I found the rapid rhythm of her breathing disturbing. Fearing a serious case of croup or pneumonia, I called my pediatrician at 2am. When she called me back and heard my daughter's wheezy sounding quick breaths, then asked me a few other questions (yes, she's burning up, fever is probably at least 103), she urged me to go to the Emergency room. I've been told to do this before but this is the first time I've agreed. She called the hospital in advance so they took me in pretty quickly. Her temperature and pulse were taken immediately, revealing a 104 fever. A coughing fit ensued and the doctor told me it sounded like classic croup. He watched her chest and told me I'd absolutely done the right thing by bringing her to the ER. He then took a mucus culture (dipped a q-tip in Eliza's plentiful stream of snot) and ordered a lung x-ray to rule out pneumonia. We waited for at least a half hour for the radiologist to appear. While we waited outside the radiology area, the unsavory NY types started to appear. It was 4am at this point, so I shouldn't have been surprised. A woman who was quite obviously a prostitute disappeared into the ladies room and didn't come out. I was treated to the supreme joy of watching a dirty man pee into a cup on a nearby gurney. I stood there, my lovely, innocent babe attached to me, and wondered if I'd made a huge mistake. There's nothing medical that can be done for croup. What if I'd made her sicker by taking her to such a place? It turned out to have been the right move. The culture revealed Eliza not only had croup but the RSV virus. The lung xray was clear, good news. A follow-up appointment with my doctor was scheduled for this afternoon. She set me up with a nebulizer that I'm to use 3 times a day for five days to help Eliza breath more easily. Today I sat with her in the doctor's office for 10 minutes, holding the steaming tip of the nebulizer under her nose. Eliza sat obediently, perhaps enjoying the nearness of Mama. I broke down, momentarily overwhelmed by how sick my daughter is (she also has a double ear infection, having just recovered from one in early January) and by the exhaustion of the past 24 hours. And still in the midst of all this, for lack of a better word, crap, my daughter grinned, smiled, waved to the hospital staff and the nurse and doctor today. The nurse at my doctor's office said "She certainly looks perky for somebody so sick." At the ER last night, the doctors gathered around her like groupies to observe how a baby with a 104 fever could still jump up and down in the makeshift crib and bang happily on the bars like a prison escapee. And today, after the doctor visit, plowed down with antibiotics and a sleepless night, I still watched in awe as my pantsless daughter toddled around the apartment and banged on pots and pans like it was any other day. I remembered when I was first pregnant and I was so sick, I told my OB I didn't think I could carry a baby. The OB turned up the monitor so I could hear the strong heartbeat and said, "it's perfect. You're tougher than you think." My little daughter is a toughie, a ball of fire with a wide smile and devilish, cheerful manner. When I watched her climb up a shelf today like it was nothing, I realized, this amazing girl who is dwarfed by her peers she's so tiny, is truly the best part of me.

We're all sick it seems, here at chez infirmary. Even the mysterious C who never comes down with so much as a sniffle claims to have a soar throat and sinus pressure. I told him it was probably all psychosomatic, a reaction to hearing me sound like a drag queen as I barked out various commands ("Eliza's medicine is in the fridge." "Check her diaper"). I am grateful he went into work a little late today to give me a little time to pull myself together. Eliza is her happy energetic self, except when her cough reappears. Suddenly, she freezes and time stops as her little body explodes into a series of wet, croupy sounding hacks. The doctor said she looked good on Friday and I can't live at their office for reassurance. She hasn't had a fever since Friday. Eliza enjoyed her morning with C, so much so, that she started to cry as he left. The stereo played a song I liked ("Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap) and I quickly scooped her up for a twirl around the room. As a child I'd wanted to be a dancer though it never quite happened, largely because I didn't work hard enough and partially because I never had the flexibility required. Eliza seems to enjoy moving to music very much though only time will let me know if she'll love dance as I do. I love holding her against my chest as I glissade and spin and torjete around the room. In our small apartment, it can be a bit of a challenge not to mention a hazard but we do it anyway. And she loves it, looking up into my face and smiling as we pirourette. This is actualy the correct thing to do. In dance class, you're told to look at your partner as a way to prevent dizziness. So you see, at 14 months, my daughter already has good instincts. After several minutes of spinning and some objections from Eliza, I placed her on the floor with her toys while I kept dancing. Much to my delight, she watched me for a minute or two and smiled, before she turned her attention to her little circus. I've always wanted an audience, I guess. I think she likes to see Mama happy. No matter how sad or sick I feel, on days like this when I wake up and don't know how I'll find the strength to soldier through this "marathon" of motherhood, there's always music and a good dance. And there's my daughter, heading towards me right now with a book she wants me to read to her

I decided to toss some costume jewelry this morning. Seemed like a good idea considering I haven't worn any of it for something over a year now and I do share a one bedroom apartment with my child, her father and his other two kids at least 2 nights a week. Nothing like making a little room in the place, right? Of course I had to look at everything and remember where it came from or from whom before I tossed it. This little looky loo ensured that I'd choose to pitch only three items. Certainly I can't part with the faux pearls I bought during a trip to Nantucket when I was four months along and already starting to show with little Junior. Naturally, the process was made even slower and more energy-sapping when you factor in the "help" of my 14-month-daughter. Small jewel box tops went airborn, beads rolled loudly across the floor and still, I dug through the box determined to find something I could say "see ya" to. When Eliza discovered the big three necklaces exiled to the scrap heap, I couldn't resist an opportunity to show her the purpose of these long strands of beads. Slinging them around her tiny neck (this isn't safe, kids, don't try this at home) I then reached for the camera, suddenly determined to capture this Kodak moment. As I unpacked the camera from it's small case, the lenscap came off. I looped the camera around my neck and dropped the bag in order to chase my bejeweled daughter around our cluttered living room. Drawn to the bag like a moth to a bug zapper (except the camera bag sports no real threat), Eliza dug in and yanked out the lenscap. I went from chaser to chasee as Eliza charged up to me and raised her arm up in a determined effort to return the Nikon lenscap to it's rightful lens. I lowered the camera as Eliza repeatedly slapped the cap against the lens. I smiled, laughed, called my kid a genius because, maybe, just maybe, she is. And maybe she isn't but one thing's for sure. She knows where a lenscap goes. And that's got to be good for something, right?

At 14 months, my little daughter has realized one of life's often forgotten truths; a body that moves and feels and unfurls awake everyday can bring forth an unmatched joy. When my cell phone rings the default tone of the "Peter Gunn" theme, Eliza's eyes light up and her narrow hips swerve in a slow-mo stripper sway. When she toddles along the labyrinth of the basement hallway from the elevator to the laundry room, her smile grows wide as her tiny feet take the corners in a speed that outpaces her steps of only a week ago. When she pushes the laundry cart towards the elevator and finds a group of people waiting, her hands form fists that shake against her sides in happiness. She giggles with excitement as the elevator-waiting bystanders ooh over her increased mobility and strength. After dinner, we love to dance together. When I turn on the water for the bath, she grins and takes off, knowing I'll chase her so I can strip her down and dip her into the tub. She crawls back and forth across the tub, delighted by the warmth of the water and her ability to create waves and splashes with quick movements of her body. When she comes out of the tub, I wrap a towel around her but she shrugs it off, perhaps more interested in exhibiting her perfect body than warming it. I place her on my bed which is stupid, it's high up and she can fall off. But she loves the daring of it, the fear she can spark on my face when she runs back and forth across the bed naked. She runs from the headboard to the footboard, back and forth, and screeches with glee as I rush to dig out her pajamas and get to the bed before catastrophe happens. And even in my fear, I am so amazed by this little person who knows true joy in life doesn't come from toys or money or even the story I'll tell her before bed. It comes from a body that moves and feels, from a body that has the ability to run back and forth and then collapse in the arms of a loved one in a flurry of kisses. When she runs back and forth across the bed, she reminds me of a lightning bug on a beautiful summer night. Like a bug that's light dazzles inside a glass as it struggles to get out and break free into the cricket-infused night. Except Eliza's not struggling, no, her movement is marked with pure happiness and unlike the quiet ping of the bug that hits the glass, Eliza's pace is colored by laughter. A rich, lilting, high pitched squeal, the kind of sound I hope will never leave me.

I spun Eliza around her first piggy back ride today. I'm not sure which one of us had the most fun but we had a pretty good time. It happened by accident--she sat next to me on the computer chair and crawled up onto my back. I thought, "hmm piggy back" and a new, fun way to get from point A to point B was born. I tried to recreate our happy piggy back moment by sitting on the bed and easing her into the position. It didn't happen so I resorted to carrying her around by her ankles for her enjoyment. Needless to say, this excercise was not nearly as fun for either one of us. I'll keep trying though. I haven't given up on the piggy back as a new form of giggle happy transportation. Of course, it didn't last that long the first time, what with her sliding off my back and me adopting a clearly Quasi Modo-esque stance to keep her aback. But oh what a delight to see us in the mirror, both of us decked in red (me in red flannel pajamas and her in a red velour tracksuit because, you know, she's such a runner) with our matching smiles. It was a great thing to discover on the coldest day of this winter.

Eliza is too busy toddling around to enjoy the giggle fests of the past. Way back when she was 8 months old, I'd kiss and kiss her little tummy and she'd giggle, she'd laugh and it was just about the greatest sound/moment in the world. Now when I move into that little tummy for a kiss, I'm greeted by two little feet that kick me away. She'll giggle when I come up behind her, lift her shirt and kiss her back. But the giggle is all too fleeting, she's on the move and anxious to get across the room so she can pick up that empty box of candy. Life that unfolds in running, jumping hyperdrive is too busy to allow extended laughfests in her world these days. The giggle came back today. Eliza was seated in a big comfy chair and when I stooped in front of her, she grabbed onto the nipple of one of my boobs in order to help herself stand on the shaky, rocky chair. Tears quickly formed in my eyes and I yelled "Owwwww!" This brought out a flurry of wild, happy, overjoyed giggles, the kind I haven't heard in months. Uhm... great?

Okay, I don't mean to pick on men here. When I open up with a line like that, naturally it means that's exactly what I plan to do. As I write this, C is watching channel 35, supposedly for a good laugh. Channel 35 is a public access cable channel that posts ads that feature bevies of naked, bouncey women frolicking in oversized bathtubs. Oh now he's changed the channel to watch "Busty Cops, Bigger..." I'm trying to write here and he's begging me to check out two chicks perfecting their ability to lather each other into zestfully clean bliss. He claims he's watching this stuff for the funny. Ha ha, usually I find it amusing. But I digress. Long story short, I spent a good part of tonight partaking in some light-hearted male bashing. I did the girl's night thing with another friend who also has a 14 month old child and we laughed about men's inability to put on pants while simultaneously administering a bottle. Don't pick on me here, studies (I don't know what studies but I've read it somewhere) have proven men can't multitask. Although I've taken care of Eliza through several sinus infections, if C has so much as a hangover he's supine for at least half the day. While my friend and I enjoyed complimentary cockatails, another friend bailed on our outing due to a sick spouse. We were saddened by her inability to join us, but of course we understand. We know that many men aren't as good as we are at functioning when they're not feeling well. Men must have the physical stuff to bathe a child with a backache, I mean half the men who fought in the civil war suffered from terrible dysentery. If men can trudge through mud and swamps while carrying heavy guns when they're intestines are on fire, surely they can feed a toddler when they're afflicted with heartburn, right? Another friend called later to tell me her three month old son was suffering from pneumonia. He was okay but it had been a rough week and her little boy was still miserable. She's exhausted from his illness and the nursing and the fact that she's flying solo on this one because her husband has the flu. She's done her best to care for her husband. She's brought him soup and toast, administered decongestents and allowed him the freedom to rest. Unfortunately, after two days of this, he complained she wasn't taking good enough care of him. "I don't sit with him for very long because I can't get sick. I have to take care of the baby," she said. "The baby has pneumonia. I don't mean to shrug off the flu but I can't do crossword puzzles with an adult when I've got a crying baby with pneumonia." She mentioned this to her husband who pouted and said he needed TLC too. When she told me this, I laughed which I know is probably a completely inappropriate response. I couldn't help it (this is real humor folks! Much funnier than sudsy boobs and oohy soundtrack). Who's the baby in that house anyway?

Eliza managed to wiggle her tiny hands into my lingerie drawer as she watched me put her clean clothes away today. Like the island of misfit toys, my long abadoned drawer offered a plethora of irresistable wonderbras and satiny tap pants to the curious fingertips of my adorable daughter. Like a triumphant fisherman, Eliza happily pulled out her hands and grinned as displayed a dusky-rose colored thong. Not quite sure what to make of it, she looped it over her arm, and when she realized it wasn't quite a shirt she slid it off and wrapped it around her neck. When that didn't do the trick she tried to yank the scrap of lace over her head. Trumped by this soft pink curiosity, Eliza turned her attention towards me. As I folded her little pink and purple striped pants and a thick, plush sweatjacket, Eliza mimicked my movements by folding the thong into a tiny square, no larger than a post-it. She trotted over to her little cabinet and stuffed the thong alongside a stack of 18-month sweatsuits and jeans. Then she closed the cabinet and slapped her palms together like she rid her hands of dirt. C and I took childbirth classes together when I was around 35 weeks pregnant. A nurse who taught the class told us that she'd gone into labor seven weeks early. Because her water broke earlier than expected, she hadn't packed her hospital bag. When the woman sent her husband home after their son was born, she instructed him to bring back underwear and sanitary napkins. When her husband returned with a bag full of panty shields and thongs, in her exhaustion she nearly dumped the scant contents onto the hospital floor. "I can put the panty shields in my bra in case my boobs leak and wear the thong on my head," she offered her husband. She instructed us all to go home and pack our hospital bags that night. C said he felt a kinship with that husband. "He probably thought 'here honey, you've been pregnant for a while. Now let's go back to the way things were' and that's why he brought the thong." I laughed at the idea that a thong could immediately transport a mother back into some kind a sexy vixen who prefers striptease and belly dance lessons to lactation support groups (as though most women were ever really like that before they had a baby). I'll have to put the thong back to where it belongs eventually (perhaps in the trash) but for now I'm going to leave it where Eliza placed it, like a symbol of my womanly past alongside the wonderful innocence of my future.

So C and I called it quits over the weekend after our latest knock-down-drag-out hatefest. These fights that usually dissolve into hurled insults and vigorous shouting have become a weekly occurrance here. I'd hoped to stick it out, to see if perhaps moving to a bigger apartment would change things. It's tense, sleeping on a lumpy futon in the living room while the baby sleeps in the bedroom. Throw into the mix his other two kids who come over two nights a week for dinner, plus every other weekend. Five people in a two room apartment is bound to create tension and we can't take it out on the kids, so we find fault with each other. But it's not just the space, the strain of stepparenting or the enormous guilt he feels living in one home with one child while the other two children live most nights a week in another home. We don't work as a couple. I don't give him what he wants and he can't give me what I need. The two nights a week his kids come over are typically the only two nights he comes home from the office before 10pm. He's also obsessed with playing tennis well and plays 2-3 nights a week most weeks. I have been the lowest priority on C's list since Eliza was three months old. He lived at work and never missed a tennis match in the first three months but he knew I had a tough transition and we went out on one date a month for each of the first three months. And we had a great time and congratulated ourselves for having such a wonderful baby. Then after three months, things shifted. His ex-wife decided to move to New York (they lived in Boston at the time) but I'm not sure if the idea of this caused the shift or not. Though I loved being a full-time mother, being home all day with a baby and limited contact with adults was lonelier than I anticipated. I know he didn't want to be at work as much as he was but I felt like I couldn't even ask him for help, ever. I was frightened of my new life as a "dependent" woman. I knew his kids living in the same city would mean he didn't have to travel to see them every Sunday, but I didn't know what to expect. I'm sure I became very difficult to live with. He'd disappear at work or tennis and we'd sometimes go days without saying more than a few words to each other. When we were together, we'd fight, often about stupid stuff. Then the kids moved here and things seemed okay, for a bit. And then as they came over more often, things quickly disintegrated to this awful finale. I really think we're not right for each other. But the splitting up part is so hard! We've agreed to go our separate ways when the apartment sale is final. So around April 1st I'll be living with my mother, jobless, middle-aged and terrified. I can't return to my old job, even if I wanted to because it requires me to live in New York City and I can't afford that as a single parent. How did I somehow go from the independent, self-sufficient woman to some kind of 1950's throwback with no job prospects? How do people get through this?

I took my first solo trip to the airport with Eliza and it went extremely well. She is such an amazing baby/toddler she makes it all seem so easy. I woke up early with stomach cramps so intense I nearly doubled over whenever they hit. I had some general "episodes" involving the bathroom and some moaning but the less said there the better. C left early to play tennis and wished me a good trip. Noticing my general distress, he said "I hope you feel better." C and I have called it quits but even if we hadn't decided recently to split, the morning's scenario would have been exactly the same. Nothing holds him back from his tennis, nothing will keep him hanging around the apartment to help out the sick Mama of his baby when there's a court waiting. My "problems" continued after Eliza woke up and I fixed her breakfast. I was frightened that I'd picked up a stomach virus but I was determined to make this trip to Pittsburgh to say goodbye to my grandparents house. At 100 years of age, my grandfather sold the house he's lived in since the 1940s to move into the assisted living facility with my grandmother. I wasn't in good shape but I told myself I could live with what I was dealing with as long as it didn't get any worse. And it didn't. Though I had nauseau and cramps in the car on the way to the airport, I did okay. Though I felt like I'd double over a couple of times waiting to go through security, I made it. LaGuardia airpot was empty and the flight left close to on schedule. I'd purchased a seat for Eliza which I know was a ridiculous splurge but the fare was so low, I figured why not. I found out why not on my nearly empty flight. Eliza napped for most of it, only struggled during the landing when I held her on my lap and she wanted to run around the airplane. Greater Pittsburgh Airport was a zoo and I'm dreading the security line on the trip out but my luggage was there when we arrived and I managed to find us a decent lunch. I chose chicken soup for myself and realized as I ate my appetite was back and my cramps were gone. We'd made it! The shuttle from the airport to the hotel took an hour and a half and the driver drove like a maniac but that was the only negative of our trip. My grandmother was thrilled to see Eliza yesterday and hopefully we'll see my grandfather and walk through the house for the last time today. It's an emotional trip but I'm so happy to be here. Every thing I do on my own with Eliza feels like an accomplishment. With each step I take, I feel more confident about my ability to mother her into adulthood.

Rockstar Mom recenty posted here about the numbing guilt she feels due to her separation from her husband, the father of her two children. As I prepare to embark on my solo journey with my daughter, I completely, whole-heartedly understand what Rockstar Mom is going through. I was gone for a week visiting relatives and felt a huge sense of relief being away from C and surrounded by people who love me. I have not felt loved by C for a long, long time and after a week with my people who really do care for me I can say no one should have to feel unloved on a regular basis. I felt like I could stand up straighter, like an anvil that pressed against my shoulders was gone. And still I felt enormously guilty that as my daughter added new words to her repertoire ("water" and "good girl") C and his son weren't around to see it. C's older daughter, Katie, is 14 and about as interested in Eliza as your average 14 year old is in cleaning out the leaky cabinet under the sink. I'm not saying that makes her a bad person, she's perfectly pleasant around Eliza but she's not interested in playing or interacting with a one-year-old. C's son, Harry who is 10, is a different. He's a boy with a quickly moving attention span but in the 15 minutes or so he holds Eliza, I see a lot of love. And apparently so does she, she's crazy about him. So even though I felt reborn being away from the burden of my bad relationship with C, I felt so guilty my daughter was stuck with me instead of all of us. There are a great many things I could have done differently with C but ultimately we lacked the ability to communicate. Anytime I brought up counseling, he refused, blaming all of our problems on me. Even if I am a horror to be around, if he really wanted things to work with me, he'd go, at least once. I went to therapy alone for a while and found it helpful. My therapist recognized how much trouble C and I had and suggested I come with C. I want so much for my daughter to have a family but I can't be the only one willing to correct the problems. I was willing to blame myself for everything, to try to do things the way he wanted to give my daughter a family. But I can't live in a home without love and respect. Rockstar Mom wrote about shouldering many of the parenting responsibilites alone and I don't think people realize how hard that is. I've had the luxury of being a full-time Mom for the past year. I don't know how I'll juggle my Mom responsibilities with work as I make the split from C. Sometimes I find it so frustrating that people seem to think parenthood isn't nearly as important or taxing or stress-inducing as a job. While I know C needs some time to relax after a tough day at work, I shouldn't have to apologize for feeling overwhelmed if I've cared for Eliza for 12 hours straight, four days in a row with no relief. I've done this many times and I'm proud of the stamina I have. But C never thought much of this, instead accused me of whining if I simply asked what time he'd be home. All the counseling in the world can't fix my problems with C. And yet I feel such a profound sadness that I can't provide my daughter with the happy little family even I can tell she wants. She was so happy to see her father and her brother when they came in tonight. I tell myself I can't stay here and be a good mother to her. I need to be loved, I want to be loved. And I want my daughter to see me as worthy of it.

Now that I've mentally moved on from my life with C, Eliza gets a horrific stomach flu that makes me second guess my choice. C and I worked like a team for the first time in months and I found myself often smiling when I saw the closeness between him and my daughter. It looks like she's finally turned the corner and is on the mend but the past few days have been very stressful and a little terrifying. To make matters worse, he's now looking at apartments since we'll have to move April 1st. He asks my opinion like everything's fine between us. I was too focused on Eliza's health to give him any straight answers but the truth is, we don't work together. As much as we both love our daughter, he cannot give me what I want in a relationship. I've tried to be happy with him as he is, tried to tell myself I'm too needy, too judgemental (both true) but in the end he and I don't work together. We come from what looks like very similar background but our families are dramatically different. Although my parents are divorced, there's more respect and caring between the two of them than I've seen between C's parents who are still together. His parents seem incapable of doing anything apart and they have a very nice life but she talks to his father like he's the village idiot and he snorts with superiority whenever she says something that showcases her lack of education. They're happy but that's not the life I want. Aside from my parents, there are my maternal grandparents who reside over the family they created with their three children like a great King and Queen. Though they bicker constantly, there is a great love and respect between the two of them. Their home was second home to me and all eight of my cousins. Eliza is now one of 15 great-grandchildren who still gather at the feet of my grandparents and share in the joy of what it means to be a very involved, caring, extensive family. I want that for me and maybe I want too much and maybe I'll never get it but that's what I want. C regards my family as vermin that must be endured until the exterminator arrives. He's perfectly pleasant around them but he doesn't enjoy, respect or want to hear about them. Spending time with my family is akin to cleaning up doggie diarrhea for him. While I understand that no one else can love my family as much as I do, I want some one who will at least open their heart to getting to know them and try to enjoy them. C would rather spend time by himself reading the newspaper. His idea of family is going out to dinner with his parents footing the bill or sitting on the couch for hours with his kids spooned against him, ignoring anyone else (including me) who might interrupt or try to join this cuddly tableau. I want an adult relationship, a family, love and respect for my role as Eliza's mother/primary caregiver with all the challenges that job entails. Maybe I'll never find that with anyone but I'm certainly not going to get it with C.

Carol Shields, the late, great, award winning novelist said in a published interview that her last novel "Unless" was "filled with rage at they way in which women were undervalued." (from an interview at the back of the Harper Perennial paperback version of "Unless") What an amazing, succinct way to put it. Recently, I came across a book written by a Vanity Fair editor that passionately encouraged women not to become stay-at-home Moms, but to work and have children. I think women who have children and want to work are great and I think women who choose to stay home and take care of their children are great. I don't think either category should be judged or penalized. After flipping through this book, it seemed this writer's primary reason to suggest women stay at work was financial. She thinks women who give up their careers, even temporarily, put themselves and their children at a huge financial risk. Women who give up their financial livelihood place themselves in the hands of their husbands/partners and in doing so also jeopardize the future of their children. If said husband/partner took off, this women would suddenly be a single mother, struggling in poverty with her child. Again, I don't want to blast this woman for writing a book persuading women to pursue careers and motherhood simultaneously. This is her opinion and I can't entirely disagree with her. Staying at home with Eliza has rendered me codependent on C, at least when it comes to money. I can't afford a place to live, food, even clothing for my daughter without his help. I'd rather have my own money, a job, so I can show my daughter that a woman can be self-sufficient. But I can't go back to my former job. On the last TV series I did while pregnant with Eliza, every Monday I'd leave my apartment at 6am to meet a van at 6:30. This van took me to some location in New Jersey where we broke for lunch when they told us we could and got in the van to take us back into Manhattan when they decided it was time to go home. A typical Monday ended around 8:45pm. If I was lucky, I'd make the first van back into Manhattan and be home around 9:30. If the first van was full of extras(those people who walk around behind the principal actors), I'd have to wait for the next. Maybe I'd get home at 10pm, only to do the same thing again the next day. You see why I have no desire to return. I've applied to grad school and plan to start a new career, one that doesn't involve those kind of hours but I will miss being home with Eliza. I wish that a "woman's work" wasn't undervalued, that the choice a woman makes to stay home with her child could come with some monetary benefits. Child support is based on income and has absolutely nothing to do with what it costs to raise a child. It doesn't factor in if the mother works or not. Perhaps, child support laws need to come around to protect women who choose to stay at home a little bit better. Maternity leave policies in this country also need to change. Women are tremendously undervalued. The other day a great song came on the radio and I stopped whatever I was doing (probably cleaning the apartment), grabbed Eliza's shakers and jumped around the living room. Eliza laughed with glee and shook her booty right alongside me. As she laughed and the music soared and my ears felt like they were bleeding from the loud tap-tap of the shakers, I realized this was the best five minutes of my day. This moment would not have existed if I worked outside the home. As a working Mama, my time with Eliza would be limited to meal/bath/bedtimes with weekends and holidays for real fun. I don't have oodles of free time as a stay-at-home Mom but there's 15 minutes here, a half hour there. If I'd chosen to go back to work a few months after I had Eliza, I'd be depriving myself of the greatest joy I've ever known. I'm entitled to that happiness, I deserve it. I value the work I do with her, I value it tremendously.

Thanks to everyone who responded to my last posting about the undervalued women. I apologize for not responding sooner but moving from one apartment to another can take on an awful life of its own. First of all, as my daughter gets older, I actually feel the urge to return to work in some capacity. She's intensely social and will start pre-school sooner than I thought because she needs the interaction with the other kids. Naturally, I'm going to need some kind of life that doesn't revolve around her. I've also worked a bit since her birth and I know full-well the joy of turning the key in the lock, opening the door and getting greeted by a running, laughing child who's so happy to see me. I know a woman can work and enjoy her child. But I'm greedy. I worked a long day right around the time Eliza was getting ready to take her first steps. I spoke about it so much at work, my coworkers quickly grew bored with me. As one woman said, "when she takes her first steps in front of you, you'll be just as thrilled." I knew this to be true, but I was obsessed. I wanted her first steps to be with Mama. I didn't work for a while after that, probably because people realized I wasn't quite ready. Eliza was eleven months old at the time. As I said before, I think women that work are great and women that choose to stay at home are great. I think most women make the choice not only based on what they want but on what's best for their family. I only feel that women who choose to stay at home should not be penalized. The book I mentioned in my last posting urged women to continue to work because divorce cases often only reward women with temporary or "transitional" alimony. Child support payments barely cover the cost of socks. This is an area that needs to be improved. Show me a full-time Mom and I'll show you a women who tried to do what's best for her family. Perhaps she wasn't so happy in her prior job but for some women, taking care of a child is like a calling to the ministry. For her, it might be the right job. If her husband/partner can afford for her to stay at home when they're together, he can continue to financially support his child in a way that's best for everyone. This book pointed out that in divorce, often the standard of living goes way up for men while it declines for the woman and her child. If I was the breadwinner and for some reason my daughter didn't live with me, I'd much rather live in a studio apartment while she retained her current home. In other words, I'd gladly pay for my child to have a good life if I had it. In other words, don't penalize the woman and the child in divorce cases by offering only a temporary solution. In my former life as a script supervisor, I worked on a top 20 television show. The executive producer of that show, who did nothing but create the show many years ago, has more money than he can ever spend in a lifetime. The only reason he doesn't buy another trailor and establish it as a day-care facility is because he doesn't have to, isn't encouraged to do so, would probably never think of it. I'd pay for the hourly child care so the only real cost would be the cost of the trailor and the added stress of having one more vehicle to park everyday. But it would keep mothers of very young children happy while they worked 15 hour days. While many work places are adopting a more family-friendly work environment, we still have a long way to go. Maternity leave can be only six weeks. Part-time employment is too often not an option or comes with such paltry benefits it's not worth it. It's one thing if a company is really struggling but if you work for an employer who can afford you some flexibility, why is it offered so rarely? So again, instead of concluding that all women should work to avoid financial dependence, I vote that we respect women's choices as best for her family, and ask for changes that reflect that. Lastly, this women says that various, extensive studies have shown there's no difference in the success rates of children of working mothers versus children of a non-working caregiver. Studies can't look at things on a case by case basis. Eliza's father works 70 hour work weeks and my hours were even worse. I couldn't justify a life where my daughter hardly saw either one of her parents. I gave up a job that's not easy to segue into something that involves fewer hours so I'm kind of starting over. I don't think I should be penalized for sacrificing a career in order to raise a child I was desperate, absolutely desperate, to love. I am a good mother, perhaps better at it than anything I've ever done. It's my calling and while I realize I can't get a "salary" for it, I think my daughter should be protected.

After 14 years behind the scenes on various TV shows, I was asked to appear on camera right here for Real Savvy Moms. If you haven't watched some of the segments here at Real Savvy Moms you should, they're pretty good and I'm not saying that because I write for the site. I'm saying that as some one who comes from a television background and has the ability to recognize good, informative writing when I see it. I arrived on set four hours after the crew, a first for me. I sat in the chair and had my hair and makeup done by a professional. I got to wear a pantsuit that wasn't stained with avocado or toddler yak yak and I got to meet a lot of interesting women and talk about something other than our babies. When I sat on the couch and realized two cameras were pointed in my general direction, I felt intensely intimidated, nauseous and shot through with adrenaline. There's something about taking on a new challenge that brings on a high like I've never known. Though I worried about the whole deer-in-the-headlights thing happening, for the most part once the cameras rolled I felt pretty okay. Our segment taped in less than an hour and will be cut down to 5-7 minutes. I know with any television work, the primary goal is to make people look good and their show sound smart so I'm not too worried about sounding like an idiot. That's not to say I didn't, I simply know that if I did, the public will probably not see it. I was out the door by 3pm, had I worked on the crew I probably wouldn't leave until after 7p. It felt good to be on set in any capacity but I have to say, it was wonderful to experience my former job from a completely different angle. I felt recharged, reborn and ready to move on to another chapter in my life. If only I could find some one to hire me to do so!

This one is for my friends. So I had a baby in November of 2005 and I've stayed in touch with every woman who came to my baby shower. Some of those women have children, some don't but I'm happy to say I've kept up with both groups. Except I feel like I never actually see any of them. We email, we text message, occasionally we get together for dinner or a drink. But it seems like I go out about once a month. For the most part, I don't mind. I love spending time with my girl and this is what happens as life gets more complicated. Friends go on to new, more demanding jobs or move to other states, other friends have kids and also choose to spend the majority of their time with their kids. Once I had a child, spending time with my parents, grandparents and cousins became more important. I want my daughter to know her family so suddenly people that I saw maybe once a year moved into a front/center kind of position. I think this is normal, Grandma, Uncle even great Aunt Beaulah are jockeying for some time with the new addition. This sudden swerve in family importance is probably a big reason why people who have children don't see their friends as often. Kids take up a lot of time. I find when I'm not with Eliza, I'm talking about her. Not everyone is so into my undending monologue of devotion. I'm happy to be where I am but I miss my friends. I miss the long dinners and the walks afterwards, drinks until 2am and lunches on the spur of the moment. I miss trips to Belmont Park without a stroller and shopping excursions that turn into lunch, then drinks in a nearby bar, then dinner. I miss sleeping until 11am, waking up and calling my friend from the night before to see if she ever found her purse. Lately, I've been hanging out a new playground. One day, I noticed a young woman who looked startlingly like my friend Rachel. She was very pretty, dressed well and seemed to smile at me like she knew me. But it wasn't Rachel, for one thing, though my friend looks like she's in her 20s, this woman is clearly in her early 20s. She's a nanny in charge of three children. One day, the little girl she watches threw a fit and Eliza, ever the empethetic child, gave the girl a red shovel to cheer her up. The shovel didn't work but the nanny took a liking to me. Though I still don't know her name, we say hello when we see each other and I find myself gravitating towards her, I think in an attempt to be closer to Rachel. On a recent trip to the playground, I saw the girl this nanny watches and smiled, figuring my "friend" couldn't be too far behind. Instead, a woman who was clearly this girl's mother appeared and my stomach sank with disappointment. Last weekend, while at the same playround, I happened upon none other than Brooke Shields. She played with her daughter and chatted with everyone, unbothered by the fact that people stared. I've worked with many celebrities and I'm usually nonplussed when I run into them but there was something about Brooke's openess with her child that day that drew my attention to her. I watched as she accompanied her daughter up the steps, down the slide, by the big steering wheels. I watched Brooke walk across the playground and greet another woman who, though her face was blocked by big sunglasses looked exactly like my friend Rachel. I didn't know Rachel knew Brooke Shields. Rachel has a two year old son and could be at a playground but common sense told me there was no way my friend would be in this playground. I stared at Brooke and the Rachelike, and the more I looked at her the more I became convinced it really was my friend. I grabbed my daughter and moved towards them. A man appeared and from the back he really looked like Rachel's husband. I moved faster to the women, so excited, my friend was really here, in the flesh. It was Rachel, I'd get a chance to speak to her in person, without the clack of the keypad, we could sit together and watch our children play and talk like it was old times. And then I got closer and heard the woman's voice and realized this wasn't my friend. It was probably nothing more than a deep desire to connect or wishful thinking that convinced me Rachel could actually be in a park so far from her home. I put Eliza down and let her run to the other end of the playground. I know my daughter will only be this age once and I want to drink it all in, relish her, devour her perfect little body like it's my lifeline. Part of my limited time with my friends has been my choice, my desire. I know in time Eliza will have her own life and I'll move more back into mine, back into longer nights out and weekends away that don't include children. But until then, I guess for now, I will always be stalking Rachel.

After months of sleepless nights, we have decided that we are going to be a co-sleeping family. Yes, I realize that we are getting in a little late in the game, but after explaing to the pediatrician today that I don't think any of us can take the lack of sleep anymore, he agreed it was the best option, at least until Olivia decides to sleep longer than 2 hours a stretch. She used to, not sure what happened. And have I mentioned the bags under our eyes? Oh, the bags! Even the baby has them. He said whatever gets everyone the most sleep is what we need to do. I'll admit that co-sleeping wasn't ever something I thought I'd do-- even though the idea of my snuggly baby next to me all night it totally appealing-- but I also didn't know that I'd have a child who avoids sleep like the plague. What's a mom to do? I'm curious if there are any other co-sleeping families out there? We may not have set out to co-sleep, but now that we are, and I feel it's justified, I'm kind of liking this whole family in one bed deal. Sweet.

I'm Hannah, aka Olivia's mom. I left my job as a teacher a few months ago to be a SAHM. Still getting the hang of it-- adjusting to being at home all day, having a new baby, managing on one income, getting less sleep than I'm used to. It's a big transition for me, but a welcome one! I live in Georgia, but I'm originally from the D.C. area. My husband James works as a software engineer and we have two dogs. We love traveling, cooking, and spending time as a family. I'm really excited to be a Savvy mom blogger. I always have stories to tell and I love to write. I welcome questions and comments from anyone on any topic! I plan on discussing the latest baby products, parenting/baby books, breastfeeding, etc. I also blog over at www.teatopia.net. Looking forward to meeting new people!

We've all heard "breast is best." yada, yada, yada. But, have you [i]really[/i] looked into the benefits of breastfeeding (besides the fact that it's totally free)? August is breastfeeding awareness month, and I wanted to share some of things I have learned in the past several months. I knew for certain that I'd breastfeed my daughter, but I wasn't particularly knowledgeable about its benefits. I knew that nutritionally, breastmilk is superior to the stuff that comes in a can. Here's what I've learned since then. -- breastfed babies are less likely to have allergies -- the milk is tailored to meet your baby's nutritional needs at specific times (the milk contains more fat when it needs to) -- it delivers anti-viral cells to the baby, resulting in a healthier baby who is better prepared to fight off germs -- when the baby suckles, the utuerus contracts back to its original size -- the mother is less prone to ovarian and cervical cancers These are among the many reasons for breastfeeding your baby. And, for me, one of the top reasons to nurse: the close, physical relationship you share with your child. This is not to say that bottle fed babies aren't happy looking up at their mommies while they eat, but there is nothing like providing for that baby with your own body, as you did for those 9 months the baby was in your womb. The cycle wasn't meant to end at birth. When I nurse my daughter, she holds on to my breast with both hands and caresses it while she eats. Trust me, there is nothing sweeter. If you are pregnant, consider the benefits of breastfeeding. And if you have trouble in the beginning, seek help! So many mothers say they couldn't breastfeed, but sometimes the problems can be solved. I had much difficulty in the beginning. I had to pump my sore breasts and feed my daughter with a syringe. I cried every time because I was tired and frustrated. I probably cried more than my baby in the first week. Now, 4 months later, that seems like an eternity ago. My daughter and I have shared a wonderful, successful nursing relationship since then, and I owe much of that to the lactation consultant who worked with us. I thought I'd never get it right, and I had people close to me (although never my immediate family) tell me to "just give her formula." I knew this wasn't the best thing for her. Unless you have a unique situation, give it a chance, even if it's just for the 6-8 weeks of maternity leave. Giving your baby those initial antibodies has such an impact. They don't call colostrum "liquid gold" for nothing. I know Real Savvy Moms is featuring some books and articles on breastfeeding in honor of Breastfeeding Awareness Month. I encourage you to maybe look at some of those, whether you are pregnant, a current breastfeeder (because it's just so fascinating!), or even a mom who bottle fed, because this might be something to consider if you have another child. I know moms who have regretted their decision not to nurse. I can't say that I've ever met anyone who regretting choosing to share such an experience with their baby.

Ok, so maybe I don't personally have your solution, but I know someone who does! He's [url=http://www.thehappiestbaby.com/default.asp]Dr. Karp[/url], author of one of the best books ever for calming your crying baby and getting them to sleep. I received his book, [i]The Happiest Baby on the Block[/i] along with the matching DVD as a present when I had Olivia. At first, I was too tired to read or watch anything. My grandma kept bugging me to "read the book! Watch the DVD!" and I'd tell her how tired I was. Forget it, I wasn't sitting down to read a book when I barely had time to shower. Finally, I sat down one afternoon when Olivia was actually napping, and I felt as if I'd just found buried treasure. What a genius this man is!!! He has this thing called the "5 S's" and they work, believe me, they work! They have quieted my child even in the loudest screaming fits. Here they are: [u]Swaddling[/u] - Tight swaddling provides the continuous touching and support the fetus experienced while still in Mom's womb. [u]Side/stomach position[/u] - You place your baby, while holding her, either on her left side to assist in digestion, or on her stomach to provide reassuring support. Once your baby is happily asleep, you can safely put her in her crib, on her back. [u]Shushing Sounds[/u] - These sounds imitate the continual whooshing sound made by the blood flowing through arteries near the womb. This white noise can be in the form of a vacuum cleaner, a hair dryer, a fan and so on. The good news is that you can easily save the motors on your household appliances and get a white noise CD which can be played over and over again with no worries. [u]Swinging[/u] - Newborns are used to the swinging motions that were present when they were still in Mom's womb. Every step mom took, every movement caused a swinging motion for your baby. After your baby is born, this calming motion, which was so comforting and familiar, is abrubtly taken away. Your baby misses the motion and has a difficult time getting used to it not being there. "It's disorienting and unnatural," says Karp. Rocking, car rides, and other swinging movements all can help. [u]Sucking[/u] - "Sucking has its effects deep within the nervous system," notes Karp, "and triggers the calming reflex and releases natural chemicals within the brain." This "S" can be accomplished with breast, bottle, pacifier or even a finger. He bases these ideas on something called "The Fourth Trimester", and as Olivia is now 4 months old and no longer in this so-called fourth trimester, they don't all work, but I still use what I can when I can. The sucking works every time. Baby crying? Give them a boob (yet another genuis reason to nurse-- instant comfort!). She still likes the "sushing" and the swinging, but not so much the swaddling. She is a nosy 4 month old who likes to touch and grab EVERYTHING. Seriously though, if you haven't heard of this guy or his ideas, check them out. His book and DVD were some of the best gifts I received. Oh, and he'll show you a way to swaddle that no baby can get out of. I know-- my daughter broke out of a swaddle blanket in the hospital within an hour of being born, anhd continued to do so until I tried Dr. Karp's method. You'll thank me later. Or, you'll scream that you didn't have this book when your child was a baby.

Feel like you will NEVER look the way you did before you bundle of joy arrived? You might be right, but be proud of these changes. Wearing the marks of motherhood is an honor, really. I may never be able to wear a bikini again, but every time I look at my stretchmarks, which are fading every day, I remember watching them appear, a bit more every day and knowing as I grew, I was that much closer to meeting my baby girl. And the boobs-- oh! the boobs! They might be sagging just a bit, but they have a very important job right now. I happened upon this amazing blog: [url=http://shapeofamother.blogspot.com/]The Shape of a Mother[/url]. It features various mommies, proudly displaying the changes in their bodies. Nothing will probably make us feel completely good about these changes, but at least we are in good company. Check out the site! Here, I am proudly displaying my stretchmarks at 16 weeks post-partum. [img]http://WWW.TEATOPIA.NET/archives/post-preggers tummy.jpg[/img]

When I was growing up, Hannah was a pretty uncommon name. These days, however, I seem to be turning my head constantly as I hear mom's everywhere calling, "Hannah! Where are you?" or "Hannah, get back over here!" It seems to be right up there with Emma, Emily, Grace, and unfortunately, my daughter's name, Olivia-- the name I chose for my daughter when I was in elementary school. So there. I'm not part of a fad. :-) Interestingly enough, the other names I chose for my children, Emma Grace and Aidan something or other are pretty popular. I must have great taste because they are all the rage. hehe. I think for our next child, I will be re-thinking the names I once loved because we will be a family of all common names sine my husband is James, and I have the #3 name right now. I was reading an interesting article on baby naming yesterday on iVillage UK. It talked about the various things to consider when naming a child. I have summarized the list: 1. Fashion victim (what's trendy) Sharp sounding boys' names beginning with 'J' are currently top of the league as well as Celtic-style boys' names. Also, pretty, Bronte-esque sounding names, and shortened girls names. 2. Unfortunate rhymes or connotations Watch out for the hidden joke. It may not jump out at you at first but will be all too evident to your child's classmates. 3. Celebrity Resist the temptation to live in your favorite celebrity's shadow. You don't want to look like a stalker. 4. Too quirky Don't saddle your baby with an overly wacky name. (seems to be all the rage is Hollywood) 5. Think twice You may think you're the most original parent in the universe, but you aren't the only parent to think of them. (I beg to differ. When I was teaching, I had names ain't nobody ever heard of.) 6. Spelling Bee Don't complicate your child's life before they've even made their entrance. 7. Latin lover Be prepared to have people ask where you're from. 8. The Bible Biblical names have always been very popular across the board, but try to steer clear of bad associations. 9. Find a real link Think of those you have known and loved over the years (like Olivia, ahem) 10. Be flexible Don't be dead set on the name you've chosen. Your hubby might not like it (I lucked out!!!) Ok, so I've told you why I chose Olivia. She's Olivia Beth, and her middle name is my middle name and my mom's first name. What names did you select for your children? Do they have any special meaning? How did you pick them?

Tomorrow is a good day. I am actually going to the gym-- something that I've been saying I'm going to do since about 8 weeks post-partum. I am so excited about losing some weight. I just need to make sure I don't weigh myself for a while because I always weigh myself obsessively and get so upset when I don't start losing weight immediately and I give up. It's a total cop-ou! This time though, I am in it for the long haul. I have this new-found motivation that comes from not being able to afford a whole new wardrobe in the next size up since I quit my job and we are now a one income family. That'll get me moving! I still need to buy a good supportive sports bra to keep the ladies safe while I exercise. Do they make sports bras for nursing??? I might buy some new shoes too! This is something really healthy for me emotionally too because I need to do something for ME. Most importantly though, I can't wait to fit back into some things I love. I know I'm going to feel so much more sexy and energetic!

Ok, so the exercising didn't go so well. I was so ready to go and get rid of this baby weight. I jumped on the stair climber, then did the eliptical, then suddlenly, I wanted to puke. Not so good. Perhaps I am more out of shape than I thought. In other news, Olivia slept in her crib today. for the first time. ever. and she's almost 5 months. Is it sad that I am excited about this? I keep telling myself, "just one more week. Then we'll get her to sleep in her crib at night." But it never happens. I love listening to her breathe when she sleeps. I love having her [i]right there[/i] when she wakes up to nurse. In another room just seems so far away . . . When did your baby start sleeping in their own room?

Do you know how to un-constipate a baby? Because I sure as heck don't. I've rubbed her tummy, given her a warm bath, moved her legs around, prayed, begged. Nothing. Everything I read said that it's normal for a breastfed baby not to poop for a few days, but believe me, it's not normal for [i]my[/i] baby. She loves to poop. She poops all the time. Also, she seems uncomfortable. She pushes, and then gets fussy like her little tummy is hurting. I know if I call the doctor, they'll tell me this is normal. If she had a pattern of not going but every few days, I wouldn't worry, but in her 4.5 months, she's rarely goes less than 2 times a day. Can anyone offer me any advice? The one thing I do know is that we'll be sticking close to home tomorrow because when this child does finally go, whoa baby! Ok, I promise not to talk about my child's bowel movements again for a while . . .

Ok, I have a question. My 4.5 month old says "mama" a lot. Is this just a coincidence? It has to be. I know she's too young to know what she's saying (even though I'd love to think she's saying my name), but is it possible she's immitating me since I say it to her a lot? She makes the "mmmm mmmm" sound a lot, but this is a clear "mama" and she mostly says it when she gets upset. Is this typical? How will I know when it's the real thing? I know I said I wouldn't discuss Olivia's poo-poo anymore, but I just had to say that after a difficult morning, a call to the doctor, and a home remedy, all is right with the world. Thanks for the advice! I actually tried a couple of the things mentioned!

After hours of obsessively searching the internet and asking around, I have found a play group! It's actually not for Olivia since she's a bit young to play. I'm the one who wants to play. I am craving some adult interraction-- some sympathy for having a husband who doesn't quite get how hard this SAHM thing is. I know I've mentioned this on my own [url=http://www.teatopia.net]blog[/url] before. I think this SAHM thing is getting a bit easier. My child still won't take naps and the teething is still a nightmare, but I am finding more things to do. I think in some ways, you need friends even more than you did pre-baby. At least, I feel that way. It helps to have support. It's even more exciting to meet someone for coffee these days than it ever was before. Do you participate in any mom's activities? Stroller exercise? MOPS? LLL? anything?

Ok, suddenly things just got scary. I've been noticing some post-partum hair loss. This is very normal. I find hair caught in my shower drain, a few strands on my pillow, a bit more than usual in my brush. Like I said, normal. But then tonight, I went to pull my hair back, and Holy bajeezers! I have a receeding hairline! The horror! I looked it up online, and I found that it could post-partum hypothyroidism. I actually have some of the other symptoms: extreme fatigue (and we're not talking the normal mom stuff), a decrease in milk supply. I am freakin' scared. I'm going to call my OBGYN tomorrow. Regardless of what's wrong, I look like a 45 year old man. This is not good. Not good at all.

When I want to know something, I read. I consulted "What to Expect When You're Expecting" sometimes several times a day when I was pregnant. I also read "The Womanly Art of Breastfeeing" and I've been consulting "What to Expect the First Year", although I don't have nearly the time to read that I had before. I've also read other books on pregnacy, parenting, development, etc. I blogged at "The Happiest Baby on the Block" before too, which I'd recommend to anyone! I've also found anything by Dr. Sears to be awesome. What books have you read as a mom? What would you recommend?

My husband said something yeterday that cracked me up! He wants me to believe he can handle our baby as well as I can. HA! I was baking some goodies for our new neighbors while James watched Olivia for a couple of hours. It's seldom that he watches her for that long without me nursing her or playing with her while he's on "baby duty." I can't stay away from my little girl. :-) But yesterday, I was covered in flour, and she started to fuss. I couldn't take her, and she wasn't hungry, so he tried to calm her. This is how it went: (Olivia yelling) Me: I'm glad you're seeing what it's like when she fusses for no reason. James: I can get her quiet. (minutes later, still fussing) Me: It's hard, isn't it? You couldn't do this all day. You'd go nuts. James: Sure I could! I like it when she fusses. Me: Huh?!? James: It's kind of cute. (totally trying to play it off) Now I'm totally rolling my eyes at him. 2 minutes later . . . James: Are you almost done? Can you take her? HA! I knew he couldn't last.

Never in my life have I not had a routine. I was in school, then college, then taught school-- a job that is more structured than many, certain classes at certain times, the same kids every day, etc. Anyway, I have no schedule at all right now. Zippo. Nada. I've heard it's good to have kids on a schedule, but Olivia is so young right now, so we just kind of go with the flow. That's one thing I like about being a stay-at-home-mom. Of course, it'snot purely by choice. Olivia doesn't nap much, and she's not sleeping at night as well as she used to (now why did I have to go and broadcast to the world when she was sleeping so well at night. I totally jinxed it.) We like going with the flow around here. Baby is hungry. I feed her. It might not be the same time as yesterday (in fact, it most likely isn't), but it's ok. Sometimes we get up early, or sometimes, like recently, we sleep in. I like to read late at night because it's the only chance I get to have "my time" so I often sleep super late since Olivia usually does. It's kind of nice, except on days like today when my hubby came home for lunch and found me zonked out on our bed with Olivia. I try not to let him see these moments. We don't want him thinking I lay around all day! I don't get any more sleep than he does. I just go to bed later and get up later since my child's crazy schedule allows it. Now, I know if I was working, a strict schedule would be a must, but as long as I'm home, I kind of like this sleep when you want, east when you want type of deal.

I'm curious to see how other moms feel about teaching their babies sign language. It's something I knew I wanted to do, but my husband is the one who kind of jump started the whole thing. He's been watching the DVD's with Olivia for a couple of months now. He seems to think she'll catch on. I think it's sweet that he believes she's so advanced, so I'm not sure that she's getting anything yet. It's a bit early at not even 5 months old. I have a friend who teaches sign language, and she says she doesn't really think they even start to catch on until about 6/7 months. Even that seems early to me. We've been using the "Signing Time" videos. I told my friend who teaches sign language about the videos and she said those are the ones she recommends. I actually took S.L. in high school and a little in college, but I had forgotten most of it pior to watching the DVD's. It's coming back to me, but even of you have no prior experience with signing, it's pretty easy to catch on. They are for babies, afterall, so you shouldn't have any trouble picking up the signs. I haven't done a lot of research, but apparently, teaching your baby SL increases their verbal vocabulary later. Also, I think it might be fun (and helpful) to be able to communicate with my daughter before she can speak. Sometimes I wonder what she'll say. The most common seem to revolve around food. Some babies can even tell you they need changing, but that won't be my daughter, I can assure you. This kid can have poop up to her eyeballs and she's happy as can be. She even ate poop one time. You can read that story [url=http://www.teatopia.net/archives/000731.html]here[/url]. Anyway, I'm curious what your views are on the whole teaching sign language to your baby fad. Have you done it? Do you plan to?

My husband's office is selling their used laptops. He asked me if I knew of anyone who'd like one, and I said "our daughter". I think I could make a killing by desinging baby laptops. And I don't mean those brightly colored "toy" looking ones. Nope, it's got to be the real thing, only without all the expensive internal parts. Oh, and it would have to be baby safe too. Olivia much prefers my toys over hers, and anything less than a real looking one just wouldn't do.

Grrrrr . . . Nothing makes me more irritated than someone asking if Olivia is a boy when there are clues indicating otherwise. The time someone asked me when she was dressed in a unisex onesie and in a blue sling? No problem. It wasn't obvious, but the other times-- I have to refrain from asking the person if they can indeed even see. Why do people ask such dumb questions? If they are interested enough to ask about the baby, why don't they take an extra second to see if there might be a clue as to what the baby is? In my case, there are usually many. footwear? Check. Olivia is usally wearing her pink Gymboree sandals or socks with ruffles purchased by her Grammie. This is often enough to tell the person that my daughter is in fact a girl. clothing? Check. Olivia generally is wearing something girly. We have a lot of pink and purple clothes, and when she is wearing yellow, green, or even the stereotypical blue, there are generally flowers on her clothes. And if these obvious clues are not enough, the big honking obnoxiously pink stroller she's in ought to do the trick. But nope. They still ask away. "How old is your boy?" AHHHHHH! Now tell me, honestly, does this not scream GIRL?!? [img]http://WWW.TEATOPIA.NET/archives/stroller.jpg[/img]